Dusty men parade through the streets like royal soldiers in July, I wander these streets, searching for who knows what hell knows where,

the cobbled street creeps under my feet and im on the hunt for something. im sure I just don’t know what it is,
white headphones and thoughts that circle through the sub way underground passages and tunnels lead to other tunnels and escalators that take us up passageways and alley ways, we make eye contact on the tube, she looks I look, she smiles I smile but no word come out, the chick chick chick of the train and im left speechless and then the doors open and she vanishes and the whole way home I think of all the other worlds of all the words that I wanted to say but couldn’t wouldn’t and won’t ever get the chance to say to her,
and then she’s gone and only a memory left on this page, at this stage I should give it up but my heart beats more and more for that feeling of bliss, a kiss from her lips that reach out and warm up my body on this cold April day, it doesn’t go away that flame that burns and we yearn for touches of angels that have no wings that tell us they get us, they get this, they know what it is that is, and what is what and how its meant to be, but then maybe we never really know and I walk up hills and see my reflection in the shop windows of bookstores and fashion stores and people walk like its Sunday and it is Sunday and one day I wont walk alone anymore but right now when you want to write when you want to have no one to answer too its ok,
because when you’re alone you hear yourself and no one else.
no whispers in your ear. no one to tell you anything you don’t want to know or don’t want to disagree with, and the streets as I walk I can’t feel how tired I am in my legs cause the rush of being here just keeps me going and every stop I get off at I feel like it’s the first time I have been here,
and its all fresh and London has an energy that you cant really touch but you feel it as you walk through Soho at 5pm when the sun is out and you feel it when you walk on Regent st and the swarms of people just keep swarming and if you bend down to tie your laces you might just get walked over, the beats of the city and heartbeats and bus stops and grey skies then blues skies and grey walls and its mixture of everything and anything and it’s the gate way to the world and I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else right now and maybe soon you’re reflection will be seen with mine as soon I build up the courage to actually look at you and say what I want to say without a hundred pairs of eyes watching me trying to talk to you on a crowded tube at 7am, the timing is right when its right and tonight we’ll fight on and maybe we’ll see you in the morning or tomorrow or sometime then,
but until that day I can only hope that you’re there somewhere thinking of all the things you maybe wanted to say to me, but we’ll see we’ll just wait and see shall we?

Not to be forced but of course we already knew the ending came before the start. I walk the Hampstead streets, the cobbled stoned walls and floors I’ve been here before,
sip on mint Moroccan tea, just me, and these thoughts and memories that lunge and plunge and take over my being, we remain in the present I am here now and you’re there and as bare as the way our bodies lay together I remember that the hardest part was leaving you. There is a purpose are reason is it treason if I see another girl and wander what it would be like to know her on a level as intimate and delicate as the way we were so many time before? These buses and streets and alley ways and lane ways, the travelling and pondering and this heart beats too my dear it beats for the return of that time we were one spirit dignified and personified into one aura of delight and as these thoughts take flight on another journey that swoops across my mind again, I pretend that tomorrow you may come into my work or just might be waiting for me to come home, and home is a notion that loses its meaning, everyday that I’m away, I just want to be strong to align the lines that aren’t aligned and through all this I might find exactly what you really mean to me let it be, now just let it be and we’ll see if its all fate, your voice on the phone, its so unique and I’ve never really been alone, so alone I stand and alone I walk through these Hampstead streets, isolated and dissipated, the old man in the second hand bookstore, he smells of stale air and unshaven madness but he knows every book in its disordered state and I wait for the words of writers that carved paths in my psyche, that paved the way for me to attain something that meant more then myself, and as your voice resonates through the metal phone I place to my ear, I hear your voice and say to you what I’m feeling, you know me, you understand the depths of these words and in turn I will open up to you when the timing is right, now this de-ja vu’ that walks through walls and clouds to find me I see that after all this time it was always you that cared and spared the time to make me realise that life can be what we want it to be, we must stand and fight the battle its never easy and every feeling we have ever felt has been felt before, every situation that seems to have no conclusion its been felt somewhere else and in the context of my life my worries are insignificant as opposed to somewhere and someone else right now. I was never a weekend poet just a man with words on his mind, I sit now above the Indian restaurant and the London blue sky spells out you name in vain time and time again…..