You were a ghost, an echo,
a faint whisper in my ear.
An old photo,
a match box 

I’ve asked you how we got here.

You weave threads through old names that feel cosy like a winter knit, 

searching oceans of blue speaking as though a life time hasn’t passed before it.

You’re fresh cut grass on a childhood day soaking all my memories in sunshine,

an envelope sealed with a kiss unfolds on a knife edge, asking: are you mine?

Stood by an old fence,
hidden in the shade of an oak tree, 
you waited for me.

Your touch strikes like a match 
sparking tinder sticks 
tied to the heart.