POEM - LAST NIGHT THE GIRL IN THE FLAT UPSTAIRS MADE LOVE

Last night the girl in the flat upstairs made love

For what may well have been her very first time.

My bed is here and hers is up above

And when she enters hers into my own I climb;

There I lie and think of her so near

Fresh from her bath, warm and sweetly scented.

How do I think this? I imagine and I hear;

The picture that I have of her is so presented.

There have been encounters on the stair

So her face and form I know and she knows mine,

Each one to each presents a mutuality of dare.

Dare we look and dare we see a sign?

We did. We dared. We climbed the sweet romantic tree.

Last night the girl in the flat upstairs made love – with me.