early november night

a poem about guy fawks night my favourite night of the year and sharing it with somebody special

the air is sharp and cold on my wet lips as i inhale,
the golden path brushing up our legs and blowing away,
as we walk through the park, against the red backdrop.
the smell of smoke becomes slightly apparent,
as the fires, of England, are lit almost all at the same time,
the fireworks start to fizz, and pop in unison
rainbow gunpowder against the red backdrop,
it could almost be another planet
im captivated, by your amazement,there IS life on Mars after all...
we sit on the hill, the grass slightly damp in between,the masses of brushed up gold, birch, trinkets and cast off's
and,look out over the hills, and valleys, fires sending there signals and fireworks singing them there arms around each other,just like us
as the night goes on and the fires die down to a simmer the fireworks getting few,
ill walk you home through the light smoke
but not to rest, for the dawn approaches, and as it does we finish the night
where we began...against the red back drop sky