The charger’s sat on the window sill

while I’m sat in this single carriage

preparing my excuses:

“I’m sorry I didn’t call”/

“The day got away from me”/

“Just like that the battery went”/

“You know what iPhones are like”

 

and when each of these reasons wash

like the River Mersey does the skin

I’ll butter you up with endearments:

“Those plump pink lips are asking for a kiss”/

“Those curly auburn locks give me goosebumps”/

“I’ve seen some forlorn faces in my time

“but yours is by far the most beautiful”.

 

After such lexical prowess

has swung the night back in my favour

you’ll chuckle and roll those sea blue eyes,

resting your head on my shoulder

before one thing leads to another

and my body is at your mercy

while I cling to your tender frame.

 

A breakage brings that thought to a close.

I glide through the doors, up the stairwell,

negotiate moving traffic,

run frantically home, turn the key

and as my heart’s vessels nearly burst

I find you perfectly disengaged

as you muster: “Hiya. How was work?”