On the bridge

We met for an early lunch,

unplanned -  text from you saying, “meet2eat?”

I crossed from the north to Borough Market,

aromas of the many kitchens fused into a gourmet’ed web,

the subtle strands of spice enticing me into its maw,

and there you were,

standing, oblivious to the traffic,

in the arched shade of the iron span,

reading Walter Benjamin’s The Arcades Project.

I cannot remember what we ate,

but when we parted, when we kissed,

the stone and glass of the city’s towering prisons,

the terrible echo of life’s indenture

softened for a moment, stilled,

and we stood folded one into the other.

Then your phone lit up - a reminder of the restless world

and you left,

your perfume still on my lips,

your name a silent scream beneath my tongue.