It should all go wrong,
we met in a place of false fronts and lying selves.
A glossy lieu, with suave social personas
titivated to an idealised reality.
Vollies of double ticked messages passed
and through their shallow blue
we were born to each other, rosey eyed
unaware of each other’s face.
We encountered in an entent fragile,
in a room sombre,
scented sweet with amber ale;
our social devotion weak and optional.
In your aura I sank into
your words -spells of passion and pursuits.
In our days our engorged bud remained green;
its yellow petals poised to wither or bloom.
From each rendez-vous I left spent,
exhausted from our sensual rapport.
My mind suspended in my carriage due south,
reflecting on the fireworks encased in your eyes.
Between every breath we waited,
anticipating a chance to grow
entangled in each others arms.