Her head leans against his
Shoulder, his eyes closed, this slow,
Chugging load, lulling
Her to sleep.

Her fine brown hair blends in
With his scarf. It's hard to tell where
His black coat ends and hers
Begins.

Maybe she's a raging alcoholic.

Perhaps he doesn't want to commit.

But in this moment, this suspended space
Between Russell Square and Holborn,
That is no longer Russell Square and Holborn, but
Merely A and B,
A void moat that surrounds this
Serene definition of present; past

And future have no say
On the way
Her hat tickles his
Ear, and the way
His ankle brushes hers.