The days march onwards - like Grieg - with a drumroll at every turn.

Tears sit on my windowsill each evening before I close the blinds.

Journeying dreams collect like dust at my feet as I step into a new day.

Hands reach for yours, held softly, no mincing words.

Lips kiss yours fully, completely, until the toast pops and jug boils.

Take a bite into peanut buttered reality, the grist of it is chewy.