Tree Surgeon II

I see him at the station again,
He purposely misses his morning train,
To sit with me and travel together,
We discuss my poetry and the weather!

I read to him along the way,
His body moves to things I say,
I mention love and soft kisses,
I feel his pulses and hear his wishes.

My tree surgeon, good or bad?
Chopping trees would make me sad,
He reassures me that he’s a good one,
Protecting nature, conserving, he feels the sun.

His eyes seem lighter with lashes so long,
He liked my poetry what could be wrong,
He looks intensely deep within,
Perhaps its lust, that’s no great sin.

Today he asked me for my name,
With quiet confidence and no shame,
His sweet demeanour attracts me so,
He likes my name, he’s charming and I must go.

My train not ready I hang around,
Reading TIME and taking in the sound,
Of people bustling off to work,
Today I meet not one single jerk.

How exciting for me that he can see,
That something special, that spark in me,
Trees and cats, two precious items,
What a catch, a sexy indictment.

I wonder if we will ever kiss,
His tight embrace, a feeling of bliss,
Will he ever find courage to court me,
Only the future, only time can see.

© 2005 MCARB

The Brighton to London Poet