if you must touch me, make it brief

I am averse to women with designs

my life wanders its own sweet way,

runs on long-distance parallel lines

avoiding people doesn't come easy

takes a full life-time of deliberation

alone in a cold third-class carriage

that never quite reaches a station

tunnels never ending, dumb that

wild clatter as rolling stock slows,

memo...

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The train is getting slower and slower

Giving me time to rehearse my script

Eve is to meet me at the station

No doubt still furious, fine and ripped

Facing up to Eve, I can't do it

My nerve has gone already

I light a prohibited cigarette

My hand is no longer steady

The door opens and I alight

Ready for yet another squabble

There seems to be be no sign of Eve

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