Poem: Him

He’s Clapton and coffee and old yellowed pages.

He’s sheet music and apple pie with vanilla from a pint.

He’s steaming showers and bars of Old Spice.

He’s dark beer foam and hazelnut comfort.

He’s whiskey and olives and ink-stained palms.

He’s worn hardwood floors and hot sheets out of the dryer.

He’s Thai food and stacks of stationery and a new pack of pens.

He’s watercolours and poems and lazy Sunday brunch.

He’s long drives and new places and thoughtful conversation.

He’s warm hands and silky hair and a strong heartbeat.

He’s thunderstorms and shooting stars and freshly fallen snow.

He’s effortless ease and loose laughter and perfect possibility.

He’s déjà vu.