21

21

I watch with tenderness 

as you rub your thumb over it's patina;

A two inch silver penknife

With two small blades, one pointless,

And a pair of tiny scissors.

I watch the hard edges of your demeanour soften,

Your heart stop in your mouth,

And the shine in your eyes glisten with a dawning dew,

As you prise each sacred part open

Revealing memories of your 21st, Colin, and the fire it had survived.

It was lost, presumed forever, 5 years ago,

around the time you'd moved, 

(been moved enough to move in with me),

21 years our age gap, 

21, the number on our door.

Finding this special fragment of your memory

Beneath my own today,

Buried under papers I'd not moved since our move,

Held a mirror to our future, through our shared patina,

Two hearts cosmically punctured by two small blades.

A Wensley

14.07.2026

(Our 7th Barrington-anniversary)