Two of hearts

I found a playing card at the end of our road;
the two of hearts.
I stoop and pocket it,
smiling because I know you like it
when I tell you I've found a playing card,
because you always say I
find the best things
like that teddy-bear still life greetings card
from a Maureen to a Doris,
that now nestles in your scrapbook.
Or the child's picture of a boat
with scruffy stick men family members sailing,
and a crayoned "I love my Mum".
I am also smiling because me
finding playing cards
reminds you of the Jack Berger episodes of
Sex and the City, and you always hated his
character and preferred him in Office Space.
We talk about this often.
I think about the fluffy sentimentality
of finding the two of hearts
but how fitting it seems to me as
we sail ourselves, in our second year.
You aren't a fan of hearts or
obvious romanticism,
you prefer to be punk rock about
these things.
Do you remember when you
crossed out the printed hearts on those pink post-it notes?
And put "pretend these are bananas" instead?
I would rather have a punk rock romantic than a
Clinton Cards bear,
so it works out well.
In our world is a warm weightlessness,
of evenings in and shared pints and
laughing really, really hard and watching Corrie and
making up recipes and going out for pineapple smoothies
and you talking to the window plants
and me doing my Shane Meadows accents.
I will put this playing card on our wall
and you can call me a soppy wanker if you like.