I want to stand at a bar again and ask you what you fancy,
To weave my slow way back to you trying not to spill a drop,
Inevitably fail when I put the glass down in front of you,
And settle in for a conversation as long as a medium-haul flight.
I want to go over our old ground for what must be the hundredth time,
To overlay my memories with yours and see what patterns they make,
For you to make me laugh until the back of my neck hurts,
As we reminisce about all the times we’ve reminisced before.
I want to set up camp on your sofa for a day,
Have you subject me to programmes I’d never choose to watch,
Let them hum away in the background while we witter on for hours,
And much later than planned, wend my reluctant way home.
I want to clean the flat in anticipation of your arrival,
To make you tea, or dinner, or whatever else you want,
To hear the clink of my glass on yours when we crack open the vino,
And go in search of more when we inevitably run out.
I want to look beyond your eyes the way I did among the daffodils,
To know that you can see me clearer than most people I know,
To hand you the tangled threads of myself and have you expertly unpick them,
And be reminded that you can read me without me saying a word.
I want to see you again-that’s all-and not from behind a screen,
To enjoy that easy camaraderie I feel when in your presence,
Until then I must sit tight, but just know how much I love you,
And I am forever grateful that life conspired to bring you to me.