Mind The Gap

The rocking of the carriages and the sound
of steel on steel beneath us screeches loud
to irritate the evening’s peak-hour crowd.
You are the Poetry on my Underground:
your fingers twined in mine are rhymes, unwound
from your shy glances; even in the cloud
of strangers’ conference the silences ploughed
from your soft speech are line breaks most profound.
All comes apart too soon: the National Rail
turns you away, and I emerge into
the night now wordless in your absence. Have
a safe trip home, I said; partings curtail
our song. The echoes in my mind have too
much beauty, too much pain for me to brave.


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