In the folds of my night 

When sleep does not come

I call out to you

And you appear

I pretend I don't know what you want to do with your one wordless offering

You hold my mind by the wrists

And our eyes darken

The cat jumps off the bed 

I know exactly what to do

In the morning

A memory comes

Of a moment

In a London classroom.

25 teenage girls and one nervous male (supply) teacher

The sky had gone black

It was that moment after the lightening but before the thunder 

a moment when it felt like anything could happen.

And in the air hung the very same smell that, 4 decades later, I could smell in my cupped right hand:

Lemon

Parmesan

Wet fur

A forgotten apple

Pencil shavings

Raw chicken breast

and the sweating yeasty head of a waking newborn searching for milk at dawn.