Leicester bar, bar with mirrors;retro vinyl sofas.

Neither of us are truly here.

Things on your/my mind. Three glasses of wine.

Enough. Wobbly white tulip (tunic, shaman’s)

is not symbolic. Like the possibilities of watery

photographics sinking down in the same mirrors.

Glasses full of cocktail ice, white wine.


 Paris.You, naturally.

 Me, climbing alpha-male

mountains in the Lakes, starting with Helvellyn.

Striding-edge in a mist.


 Word! The photo-shoot;

real auditorium,

 Slainte, Nasgrovia. Sante.

 Good on us so far. Cheers.

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