If only I had seen you first,
maybe now I’d not be watching the
Holyoaks omnibus in HD,
with this woman who has plugged
herself into me.
If I had seen you first,
we’d be wrapped in warm pyjamas,
with Radio 4 barely audible,
as we stirred our scalding tea,
in spoony unison.
I should have seen you first,
not been persuaded by ‘that’ chest,
the head of flaxen folly,
not followed as a broken pup,
her scented sense.
