It's two am on an August morning
the air's balmy
and he's on the other end of the line
and she's past waiting.....
Scars turn to tales and tales turn to rain
words turn to kisses, kisses that obliterate excruciating pain
disappointments are flooded with dreams
the world, still a little grey, slowly turns pink in the realms.
He sits organising his thoughts
she sits wrapped in the luxury of the messiness of hers
both sing a tune
both carry a smile....
The pages of the book turn a little yellow
the column a little rusty through the sands of time
and even though their melody is a little mellow
she still cracks him up and he still reads her like a dime....
the smile, the touch and the kiss
the state of unfailing bliss.....
the song, the dream and the story
you could say the rest is history.....