Two o'clock silence,
and I stumble, zombie like,
through a slow-clearing haze
on the home straight.
Mind still reeling,
from bright train lights,
and a knock from my scuffle with the ticket machine.

Conscious thought, lifts a sleepy lid,
and limps back onto the scene.
I leaf through fragments of memory,
ponder where they fit.

I remember arriving
late, as ever,
and getting the briefing.
I remember the greetings,
the pretty new faces
and I recall the first three drinks,
but not the 4th through 12th.

I remember drawing you away to talk.
You smiled
and I pretended to be bohemian.

I remember laying back on the grass,
and asking:
'Can you see the stars?'
Before a deft yawn/arm swoop.

I also remember vomit.
A sigh.
You swept from the room
and I sat, wounded and undignified.

From there, chronology fizzles out,
and all I can see are brief snapshots.
Blurred faces, skewed melodies.
Random colours which
mix, swirl, separate.

And you.

Vibrant and smudged,
fluorescent and ethereal,
threaded through the murky recollection.


A tad cliched perhaps, but I like it =>