Phone and Train

Larry Hershon

Could be infidelity at a touch,
but I tap your code.
These are Sistine reachings
from afar, through ink-blue skies:
raise your handset if you consent
to forge lightning between us
over the marbled plastic of carriage tables
and pink business pages.
Strange that in this high-gloss urban print,
rushed backwards, hermetically,
through the Surrey drizzle and sulphur lights,
homebound, lies also the warmth of your being, 
our blinding anticipation.