Broadstairs - a place to narrow our commitments,
small home as an escape when you were ready.
Two years you said and i was waiting.
Wheeling in the car with tension until we breathe under the sky.
Two years, you said against that now.
The now taken in a whip sand.
A place in my heart created confusion.
I am there in my murderer's deception.
I am there in heart, clock hands turning backwards.
I am there, glancing your soap and trust,
remembering how you listened, debated and hugged me.
Not fashioning my needs ever - unlike the murderer who bought me fish and chips.
No one shall ever take away our horizons in Broadstairs,
despite drugging me until I almost lost Boris on our Sands.
Broadstairs was our future before you died,
Boris and I died whilst trying to create another happiness without you.
You know me, my loyalty and trust.
And despite your cynicism, you showed me how to love again
to grasp the future beyond loss,
and I tried to follow your being.
