July

July

If we were together –
I’d take this bus
And come and see you – now
And sit on your sofa
With sweaty thighs
And drink wine,
While London blows
It’s late sticky breeze
Drifting in waves
Through the open window.

Covered in city grime from a sun
Like the Sahara
The heat from your kisses
Only serves to add
To the desire.

I imagine leaving
Glitter on your floor
Shed from the casual
Slump of bag to floor.

Footprints of bare feet
Pattering across in and out.
Bliss.