Dodging low-flying pigeons and tiny hands
grasping dripping ice cream,
Walking down the South Bank with bare legs,
pimpled by the cold breeze
Which persists – in spite of heavenly sunlight.
Illuminated cages hang
Above our bowed-together heads. We collude
over lunch, the sights, each other.
Tourists. Testing the water, arms around each other,
sunglasses hiding our gaze.
(Wrote him last week, but forgot to post. Now I don’t like the last line, but we’ll see how that goes.)