A beautiful poem by my Scotsman.
No room for stammers,
Like a sledgehammer, it strikes and buries feelings long felt, now with foundations.
Driving with one eye on the speed,
One eye on your leg, I reach over and feel myself drift away, lost.
A castle, not overthrown for many a century.
It becomes ours within minutes,we both wish to go further.
Bright lights, loud noises, a festival of colour and beauty.
I could spend hours in your beautiful sanctum.
Proud creatures stand tall,
As one old horse teaches us the meaning of the water that slides below.
A garden so loved, yet still overlooked.
The highlight of many cuddles, the smell of love, lust and lemons.
One horned and one regal,
The capturing of a mood, one that will linger ereforth.
To giants, and knights and “flesh wounds”
Or to the potential salmon wriggling free by our intrusion.
A petroleum spill, made real in rock.
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