to the two young lovers
across the aisle from me
midway mainline between
Wakefield and Kings Cross,
her head nuzzle-snuggling
into the tats of his neck
in a warm violet honey-tangle
of solar wind-blown hair,
his arm carelessly drapes her
as he checks his online mail…
and hey,
it’s me, I’m the creepy old guy
watching in regret and envy,
it’s me who secretly leans
across the aisle to whisper
love her, and love her well,
for this moment never comes again…
