See me in Brussels for a day or two
once the papers are shuffled and
stamped.

We’ll drink and laugh as we did those
first weeks, tip toeing around our
smiles, studies.

As you point to meat, I’ll blush for veg’
beneath a waiter’s bemused gaze,
whilst the city’s neon buzzes.

We’ll stumble, shout or snore.

Apologies for how disturbed you’ll roll
when I wake up first and nudge.

Forks of yawns and mugs of daylight
will set us over map folds for a
miniature weeing boy, pretence.

Boxes ticked, we’ll secretly think the
other isn’t as good a dancer.
We’ll both be equally as bad.

To London, we’ll tap and scroll.
Another photo set to escape into,
more distractions to plot.