Druids and Drinkers

[Keith]

We spent all day
spread soft on woollen threads,
bike helmets sided pillowed heads,
posing with corn stalks
on our lazy lover's rug.

The grass was cut Victorian,
clover cooled our summer cheeks.
It took me a day of drinking
to find the Druid her fourth leaf.

I placed it as a pendant
to her yellow white-green chain,
wore it crowned a hippy chick,
that fed on bags of fingered chips,
cradled in her lotus legs
whilst evening air
slapped straight our heads.

But the night had brought me more,
wobbling onto twisted slats,
we sat in the balm sipping beer gardens,
and still I thought it safe to ride,
my mind inside a crash test dummy,
I heard the groans of bone and blood
smashed into steel, just parked,
no one sat behind the wheel.

I'd slipped inside a tarmac curve,
you woke with swollen limbs
but ligaments would mend enough
for Monday morning limps.
You believed its luck ran out,
not much left inside the leaf,
just enough to get you home,
my state required belief.