Something Good

 

I hear you...

Your coruscating, beautiful

Catholic car-crash,

crash-course dance

In camp melodic drama

and wide-eyed trance,

"How I move,

How you move me..."

 

Hammer horror

met groomed Truffaut

and in your glam-rag trousseau

My bride

wore scorpion-black,

Spinning in the then and now

A moment caught us

too raw to look back.

 

We rose from walking 

separate sleep,

And dared to dream

beyond crash of plates

or reality's screams,

We're running up that hill,

You won't be unhappy...

It's you and me,

never more to roam,

I'm all yours, Babooshka,

It's me,

I've come home.

 

And I'm here again,

The man with the smile

in his eyes.

And after

Cloudbusting

as I watch steam rise

from my rain-sodden clothes

in yet another

Pennine pub,

I ponder the rugged,

wet-booted miles

That brought us

through our times of trial.

 

At the height of our wuthering

did we still know the score,

Know somehow

there just had to be more?

 

Exposed to our elements

we're bare 

to the core,

Your melody's magnet

enchants evermore:

 

All yours, all yours,

all yours

 

All yours.