Poetry

The hotel room is eight levels up
and an interesting place
to find some intimacy,
to be alone as two people together
and the concierge carries out cases
touches his hat and leaves
and outside a battalion of umbrellas
are marching past
minutely small like playing dolls
braving the wet weather
and your Chanel perfume fills my head,
your smile goes right into my heart
and you are very pretty
and I am utterly lucky to have you
as a darling, companion and friend and wife.