I dreamt of Angela,
waking me with kisses.
taking my hand in hers,
guiding me in dancing,
a naked English reel.
scent of coconut oil,
cascading from her skin.
and us falling entangled
on her kitchen floor.

I miss most of all, her
unrepentant laughter
and the kindness of her eyes.

It is National Novel Writing month – and well I don’t write Novels but I do try to write novel poetry. One a day for November!