He got her drunk very quickly

Holding hands, they found the broom-cupboard


Where he had control as far as the fall


When his hand covered wet hair

She took over among furniture wax


Dust, and the cloying yellow of polishing-cloth


When he was sick, she comforted him




Oh hush, my friend, and sleep


And cuddle to the wind

Sleep on through the waves


That may wet your lover's dream




We have been far through this night long hours


We will go far, tomorrow, out of sight, ooh...




He couldn't do it properly


The disco, the office, the pub,


Had left out those details of delight.

Satisfied, he would collapse out,


Puzzled at why she still squirmed,


Held onto him, tears curling into her mouth

This was something their stories always omitted


That her joy would seem like pain


When he focused after his release.




Do sand and shells and stones


Peep in through your night?

But you should not be hurt


For all will pass with time.




We have been far through this night long hours


We will go far, tomorrow, out of sight, ooh...




In the third week of the relationship


She was tripping on organic acid


Would stop to pick up a rained-out leaf

Would give it tenderly into his hand


Full of dead things before they reached the car







When they drove she sat with mouth open


As though photographed on the impact of a stomach punch

Her right fist gripping the skin of his left leg




Hooking the steering-wheel closer to his heart

He feared her, and slapped out sideways into her face


She entered the cut with her tongue

Gurgling gratitude for the strange taste




Do you fear the dark?

Then hush, and realise

That though the angels never come

Prayers can soothe your mind




We have been far through this night long hour

We will go far, tomorrow, out of sight, ooh...




There was no premonition of the wet Hog's Back

The sportscar slumped, snout into a beech

Their corpses giving the vehicle arms


Petrol and blood at last dripping together

But quick flashes of a planned lunch

Cold red beef, white cloth by a cherrywood fire


Game pie, and for him two pints of colder beer

The winter air tucking under their eyelids

As they spun on the gravel at Clandon

Their hands steaming from quick moisture


The aromatic finger drawn up to his nostril

Dazed after mutual masturbation

They zigzagged into a conservative end



Oh hush, my friend, asleep