I just flashed back.
The Summer Soulstice,
the town’s biggest party,
in a (muddy) field down in
the gypsy end of town
Tickets sold
out, so I blagged my way in
saying that I was a
very important Journalist.
You were the
very important Photographer.
Where’s all your gear then mate?
Fuck off.
Plastic cups of warm Fosters,
the amber nectar
Resembling piss in a Plastic cup,
the gypsy girl who gave me vodka
as she pissed behind the tent,
your Cocaine smile,
the expensive Sausage and Chips,
the jazz band and the drum and bass
tent, Raving away, stealing pinches
of White stuff off the thumbnail of
the man who loves me still.
Everyone put their coats and bags
to the side of the tent: this was
sheer Stupidity. We went around
emptying every Pocket, and came
up trumps. Fuck yeah, more gear,
more flashes of that smile of yours.
We danced under the pale moonlight
my Vacant stare and Mysterious air
I lost you for an hour and had fun
without you but wanted you,
Wanted you so badly so that
we could reconnect and be Together
under the moonlight on the eve
of the solstice with expensive Sausages,
piss warm beer in Plastic cups
and Cocaine smiles.
Treacle Heart 