the lovliest one there is.

Sometimes its written in Braille,

Or tounges i can't quite comprihend -

but knowing there is someone there reaching out,

helps, doesn't it?

I learnt on the telly box,

babies want to speak for months before they can,

They understand, have the response, the theory, but lack the mechanisum, can't create a link between idea and sound.

That's us, two babies on a bar stool, growing redder in the face, and meaning all the right things but not knowing how to say them.

That would also explain the rash on my bottom, and the tantrums before bed time.

Oh dear, we are grown men really, but we don't know any better.

I watch you drunken joker, oh your lovely jokes!

Old building, you are, many lived in by the locals.

They watch me - i know the things they think.

Oh Paranoia does fit me so well,

Shall i wear it on our wedding day, and walk passed all the spitting guests who swear you'd be their suitor better.

I am so ugly on your side,

And they looked so lovely on your side,

before me. Before you and me.

And suddently i'm the only child in the pub, and everyone else is watching you dance.

They are watching - YOU -dance.

You take me home and we shout in braille, and whisper in spanish, thump morsecode, and sing icelandish.

But we'll grow out of it. Won't we?

And say things clear, and strong and true, and mean it -

like "Please don't leave me".