| Paul Stevens |
Over Coffeeread by paul stevens She tells me over coffee how the one She loves has for six weeks not deigned to phone. I truly sympathise: do I not know Just how it feels, who silently love her so? Attentive as she quietly tells me of This blind, neglectful youth who's won her love, I’m jealous, yet secretly pleased that she goes through Some fraction of the same angst that I do. The more fool him. At least here I have this Brief moment with her where all simply is: I sit with her, despite what can't be said, And instantly become almost a god, Sharing her smile, loving her radiant way, Looking and listening—longing to touch, breathe, say.  © Floriana Barbu Paul Stevens, formerly of Leeds and Harrogate, late of The Strand, has taken up permanent residence in the Seventeenth Century, where he may be found at the Mermaid Tavern, roistering intemperately and raucously declaiming verse from The Flea broadsheet. |