The Bus Stop

Crawling round the inside of my mind behind my eyes,

A new, unusual idea formed, the shape of which belied,

The empty place it came from, the enormous wave of change;

An idea quite distinct within the chattering of my brain,

That started at the moment when I saw you in the rain.

The moment when that grey, dull street became my street of dreams,

I know it now, I knew it then, peculiar as it seems;

The place where all my senses did that day, in you, collide,

Where through the morning cold and damp you stood before my eyes.

Be still, be strong, be real, be true, the mantra in my mind,

Was all that I could think before your beauty struck me blind.

It’s strange to feel such longing, like a lunatic obsessed,

To feel the touch of primal urges, pounding in my breast.

Adrift, confused and petrified, left staring through the rain,

And then you gave that perfect smile that said you felt the same.

But why, how could I love you, like a mills & boon cliche,

In that fleeting touch of seconds, there was nothing left to say.

It was just a glance, a chance connection straight into my heart,

To see you standing at the bus stop like a living piece of art.

Oh, be still, be strong, be brave, be true, that mantra still remains,

Despite that it was long ago, that street now years away.

All this time you’ve been beside me, dark and handsome, tall and strong,

Yet still the moment of our meeting sounds it’s memory like a song.

And in that memory;

In that place where my best fantasies reside,

I know that all reveals itself when hope and love collide.