Pistachio

It’s as cold as a pistachio nut.
It’s as hot as a pistachio nut.
You are beautiful…


The grey sky salutes, broad and thick the clouds hang.
Immovably convinced of their complete ascendency. They rule.
Bodies below huddle and rush, tense against the wind and water.
Cold faces, cold fingers. Warm chests deep under layers and layers.


There are sodden autumn leaves plastered across the ground, a shiny carpet of orange, yellow and brown.
Branches bend with the wind or break at a gust. Splinters spill across a path.
Windows shake and car types scream down the liquid street.
The kettle’s on, it’s warm inside.


You are beautiful…