Friday, 22 April 2011

20: Trainspotter

I kissed a trainspotter
on the Piccadilly line.

His hands were closing doors,
his lower lip a chair I dared not
rest my heels upon.

We missed my stop in
favour of spun sugar and
the rumour of camomile
on the breeze.

We missed his
while he taught me
to mind the gap.

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