Somewhere in the midst of nowhere, Somebody stole me for a while, By a broken down rusty beetle, Was a woman breaking down, Blackened in wet mascara she smiled at me, I walked over trying to do so nonchalantly. ‘Have you got a spare Marlboro she asked’ ‘Yes’ I vehemently said in a blue montage, And gave her mine half-baked like the tarmac. Her accent was a symphony of Gaelic silk, That echoed on the fringes of cross winds, I stared at her mouth and smiling she looked away, She presented conversation like a guilty bouquet. I asked why she was crying, And she pointed to the roadside, There were torn photographs of a bride and groom, That blew around like cursed confetti, She spat and impaled the memories on her stiletto’s, Shouting all men are pigs, all men are pigs, I became an inappropriate pillow for her sufferance, Her flaxen locks smelled of pear drops, And I wanted this moment frozen. We talked for hours on the embankment, Amongst the flowers it was enchanted, I thought how a moment is so much sweeter than longevity, We then parted, and sweetly kissed as we went our separate ways, And we spent a sweet moment together, Instead of the asphyxiation of the rest our days. written: 17th May 2003 near Mousehole, Cornwall.