Snug is our singing

The crows, here, are bigger than cows.
Tricks of these ley-lines of light. And the houses
tilt on the edge of a sky made of dappled
dark greys. I am kissing the hem of her hair
like a shawl that is already dappled with kisses
and sighs. Safe in her caul from those over-
sized caws. She has left off from singing
and waits for the rainclouds and thunder to pass.
I am safe, though, and whisper, "A snuggery's
hugging is where the sun's mummery ends.”
In these folds I am bold. She is squeezing
my hand and her warmth is the colour
of comfrey. My voice is the music she plays.
“Snug in this huggery, feel how my whole
heart expands.” Ready to pour out like water's
soft contact. The crows, here, contract
on the tide of her breath. “And the houses…”