A new a**ignment - on average - each week.
He was unique. You could tell why He was the favourite.
Warrior-strong and sound of mind.
Both reason and rhyme.
but my god
the man was a moral brick wall.
These women. He'll love them and leave them.
Those men. He'd batter and cleave them.
k**ing in the name of
Her Majesty, the Queen.
On those afternoons I'd dress in my best.
Dressed to impress. Footsteps;
moccasin shoes, and I'd melt inside.
a door opens wide
Hat stand met by flying bowler
and in He comes; impeccable.
Outside this room, whoever He may be
He's always a gentleman to me.
In those days I'd give as good as I got
in those hazy hours at Vauxhall Cross.
I'd be curt; he'd flirt.
It was delectable.
sometimes,
He'd get
so close
that i could
smell
his aftershave
Imperiale.
But the briefest touch and occasional look
was not enough. I adored Him.
I'd wake in the middle of the night
ablaze with a double-O
But it never got any further than his hello.
And that way - that way - He said my name.
I learnt to endure but could never ignore
His constant reminder of my single status.
miss not mrs.
the way the very word dismisses
as if I'm not as good as those
wretched girls from all over the place
the u.s. of a., jamaica, hong kong
from russia with love and the stars up above
I wanted him. He pervaded my every thought.
But He was out of reach. I could never
have Him and I grew to realise
that He would never have me.
A woman such as I would tie him down
because the man was renowned
for it; the loving and leaving
and battering and cleaving.
So here I am,
grieving
for my lost unobtainable
love.
Waiting as usual, for the hat and the name and our
sad little game. But there will be
no words romanticised.
Just words that are fantasised.
Because I found that though my heart was fond,
I realised we'd never have that
Bond.