And we were back.
Our faces still coppered from the sand and sun,
Your hair was bleached and my head was burnt.
We met the silence of the second floor flat.
Keys in, bags off, shoes to the side and that was that.
No wind, no waves, just the growl of the kettle
When you suggested tea.

Whether it was by instinct or comfort or something more,
You poured the drinks for us and then
We sat on the floor.
The coffee table just above our shoulders,
The armchairs empty and tall above us.
Maybe we weren’t used to being home yet.
It was a different feeling to be dwarfed for once
In the most real sense,
Not by concrete and Victorian houses
But by trees and hills and mountains,
The things we already missed.