"11:11, make a wish"

 soft brome frames your almond face
as you stare into the sunset

face pouting around the strawberry
you’re biting in half to share with me

out on the edge of the world
or in a field in Buckinghamshire

where rebel strands of coffee black
break loose from their bun to swirl

between flickering dandelions —  
your glacial eyes bejewelled

to sapphires in the gleam
of the day’s dying embers.

“But you mustn’t tell anyone,”
you whisper,

“if you tell then it won’t come true,”
before handing me my half with a smile