Steaming bliss, dreaming of a kiss,
agitated and frustrated, perched on the edge.
A thirty minute journey, the views slowing down,
cue the clatter of cutlery, but muted by a smile.
A hush descends on carriage B, or is it only me?
Aboard the fastest freight train, my gaze never blurred,
the skin bitten around your nails, a knife slicing open mail,
awkwardly, delicately raising cup from saucer, saucer to cup.
A flutter of eyelids, you’ve noticed me;
through the muddy haze of cheap train talk,
nervously biting our lips, me drawing blood,
your lips rosy red. A stewardess interrupting,
My destination once at a distance,
Yours another twenty miles from here:
Too far too late, for rail road romance, I fear.
Photograph: Jake England