Last night I was lying in bed, and I thought back to my mother’s womb. It smelt like fresh sex. So clean, everything pristine with the necessary L’s – love, life, and lingerie.

I was born in passion, my parents’ screaming in a sociably acceptable way. I was their creation, based on, born through, and made to love. So it’s no doubt I have double the capacity to love nowadays.

As I gathered wool, I wasn’t surprised to hear a lover of mine knock out front. I opened the door, but retraced steps and hopped straight back under the warm sheets.

She crawled in beside me, her just-washed PJ’s close to my nose. “Watcha been up to?” she asked.

“Nothing much.” I was slightly miffed with my reply, though the repetition didn’t seem to bother her. We snuggled, my arm holding her in.

Outside, rain pelted the ground without reservation. It reminded me of Jane’s flight – I hoped she was safe. I also hoped her flight was an hour or so late.