Love Story

There are those love stories that you want to live for a lifetime. This one has a London twist.

(We’ve done this all week)


You breezed into my mystic east,

Monday morning 10 am,

Tuesday at five, down by Bankside,

I was your new best friend.

I groped you in the lamplight rain,

‘neath your nylon mac,

You were slippy, sexy, crinkly.

That’s kind of kinky that.

Kissed you once, kissed you twice,

held back my burping beer,

You were cigarettes and posh perfume,

as I held you near.


Guinness-tasting passion in the rain,

Can I come back to your place?

I’ve just missed my last train.

Wednesday evening,

I moved in, with everything I had.

Bussing it up through London

with my life in a plastic bag.

I told you that I loved you.

You were such a thrill.

You told it me was condoms

until you’d got back on the pill.

Thursday morning,

Breakfast in bed, an’ a little more,

Thursday lunchtime

brought your landlord knocking on the door.

He said “now you’re two. I’ve got no choice,

I’ve gotta put up the rent. »

I fumbled for my credit card

and down the bank we went.

Friday morning, can’t face working,

got Saturday on my mind,

Ring in sick,

then take you rowing on the Serpentine.

Hand-in-hand, laughing, kissing,

Barefoot in the Park,

Dinner down in Chinatown

Love Story after dark.

Sunday morning, get the papers,

all the capers and the sleaze,

The tabloids titillate you,

As I’m trembling your knees.

A breakfast poke, a lunchtime roast, ,

A nap and out for a pint.

It’s been such a perfect week,

can we do this all our lives?