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

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