Grid-love

I was T7,
she was R1
and niether of us won a prize
but maybe it was the afterglow
of giving two quid
to the Leukamia Research Fund
that made everything she said
ring with the plump satisfaction
of a seven letter word in Scrabble.
I felt like a one-man crib sheet
for the world's most wanted
cryptic crosswords;
I was all answers.

She wore nautical,
I wore pin stripe.
It was a kind of mathematics
as we missed the last bus
by one hundred minutes
then, the comforting logic
of the travelodge,
room fourteen,
with the test card on the box
and the beds pushed together.