I swear with my hand on the heart
[mine, another’s]
that I know nothing
that I get on the train on my way home
and come off at some Glasgow terminal
that I write on my shopping list b r e a d
and rush through my front door with stolen roses
nowhere is written for how long, until when
but I hear your words climbing my body
like spiders the wonderwall
like ivy the cross
[mine, another’s]
I know nothing
and no book will be able to tell
how a hand is covering your mouth
he sat at table number 9
she chose 10
their eyes never met
but only through the wall wide gilded mirror across the room
he thought her name was Faith
she guessed his was Luke
he took a sip from his mocha massimo every 41 secs
she guessed he was 41, slowly stirring her white-no-sugar earl grey
she wondered if the girl on page three of his 'Sun' was a blond, a brunette or a red head
he wondered what principle she's at in 'Why men love bitches'
they ate lemon and poppy seed muffins with small bites
his lips were firm
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