Me and her under an endless blue sky.
The clouds racing across it as we turn the radio off and pick our course.
Through the city till the concrete turns to grass.
The miles passing like minutes.
Pick a tune.
One singer. One song.
Your choice, my choice, and then around again.
Laughing like a pair of dafties when we forget the words.
Window down in the Scottish summer, we stop somewhere by the shore.
The water is cold, but we build a fire and eat the food we brought from home.
The forecast says the weather’s changing.
Not yet, I whisper, as we find the little Bluetooth speaker and dance like fools.
The beach deserted, we kiss as the sky grows dark above us.
© Paul Andrew Sneddon
