Between rows of poplars
at Bank Station
On a Bali beach
with a cappuccino
At Liverpool Street
or the former site of Bedlam:
Love is not eating noxious crisps;
Love is allowing others to pass;
Love is keeping two chevrons apart.
Someone at the bank cares for me,
sees beyond my overdraft,
sells only fixed rate mortgages
whatever the Bank of England does.
Everything invested in your job
buys a Boxster, riviera yacht,
penthouse and Dom Perignon
as God broods over the bonds
and hovers over the surface
of The Financial Times:
Love waits for anyone.
Wilderspool Causeway 