Hair, the colour of hay

A golden wonder, with the hair, the colour of hay

Sometimes when I am alone, I like to think of you. Of us. Your hair, the colour of hay, your eyes, the colour of the all-forgiving sea, your skin as soft as the rain when you walk down your street after a night of shimmering lights. 

I think of our chats, my thick skull on your shoulder, as we talk about ups, downs, highs, lows, in-betweens and bleak nothings. Big, bony, pale yet delicate, your hands wrapped around mine like a cage feels nice in the pouring rain, as your every word hits me like whips from the sky.