We step down into the dark, into the sudden stale reek of cigarettes, alcohol, hash. Each further footstep jars more; this isn’t how it should be. Bank holidaymakers clutter and annoy, jostle for position beneath the turf, shoving themselves into each stone chamber; then, faces flushed to a furious ripeness by tired incomprehension, they traipse doggedly back to Avebury, ice cream, and the A4.

We turn aside.

Two miles north along the Ridgeway, the evening suddenly sighs, exhales, opens its eyes. Let me show you the error of my ways…

Shadows seep out from the east and the sky pricks with stars. Out there, in the violet half-light, where the rape trembles over our heads, you are charged, wired and shivery, fixed on a breathless high.

Minutes pass. Anxious eyes condemn me. A touch. Don’t touch.

But, walking back, the smell of wild garlic disarms us, lulls us: I just want you to explain the meaning of ‘I love you’…

Rain through a broken skylight; these cold, prehistoric stars; the dark calm undersides of motorways – all these things make me giddy. Sometimes, I am hopelessly moved by the simplest of things. That first weightless kiss and the soft cool inside of your mouth. The small fires flashing in the ever-widening blackness of your eyes five moments ago as you stared through flickering lashes into mine.

We crouch below the Wiltshire skyline. There are snipers patrolling the inky rim. I can think of people I’d rather be in love with. I’m just not…

Unbroken, undimmed, we rise and cross the field.

Two miles back. Lie with me again now upon this man-made hill. Bury your face in the face of the soil. See dead faces stare back in mutual disbelief –

West Kennet, 1991




as originally published, as a 7″ square insert included with the single Half Hearted by Brighter

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