“Underground Love”

Morning on the Piccadilly Line, noticing two young lovers

Separated by segmented seats, they seem closer than all others

He slowly places his right hand on her left thigh, caressing it

Doing without thinking, his hand finds its own comfort

She strokes his wrist with her finger tips, each digit adorned with a ring

All pieces are unique, substance over style, carefully curated bling

They are artistic, the love between them isn't at all academic

The type of romance that could withstand a loveless epidemic

They match without intending to be matching in rhythm they sway

Free flowing tartan shirts, scarves to keep a cold day at bay

He wears black-suede high tops, hers are black and white lows

They're musically linked, a single set of old Apple earphones

One bud placed in his left ear, the other in her right, allows for conversation

Their lips move, yet no one hears their words, unbroken concentration

This is a private love, briefly shared publicly, entirely unashamed

Filling our carriage with a special aura, dozens of commuters, no names

We get off at the same stop, they go their way, I go mine

Remembering that each love is special, belonging to its own space and time