Love Letter to London

21 Feb


I don’t want you at your best.
I don’t want some day trip,
Seventeen pounds fifty
Tour bus-surface experience
That just anyone can have.
I want you, with your cloudy,
Rainy, chill of an afternoon,
Fumes swirling round
The grit of your hustling streets,
Weighted with countless histories.
I want the near boredom
That comes in the quiet moments
Of being so entirely at home
That there’s little left
To explore or learn
Within the comfortable rest
Of intimate stillness
Just before an invitation
To venture to a new depth.
I want to trace and retrace
Your curves and the lines
Of the structures
That make you, you.
I want to become so accustomed
To the roar of your traffic
And the warmth of your embrace
That no other place could ever
Be called mine again.
I want to revel in your sunset glowing
Over the shimmering river
While knowing the secret storms
That brew beneath the currents.
I want to be in awe of the richness
Of the treasures you hide away
From any passersby who try to cram
A lifetime into a two-week jaunt.
They lie to themselves
That they have seen you,
That they know you,
That you give a damn about them.
I want you to change me
Into the woman
I’ve always known was inside,
Waiting for your lights
And your song
To shape me, irreversibly;
And to leave my mark on you
So you’ll feel the space
I once inhabited,
Ever haunting you when I’m gone.
So, when I land,
And you embrace me,
Don’t pull away too quickly.
Don’t retreat as though
You cannot trust
My probing eyes
To look beyond the skin and glitter
Of what you appear
And see the beauty of who you are.
I will linger until I can prove to you
That I feel the glow
From the depths of your soul
And that I will never
Take you for granted.
Will you let me love you?
Will you let me know you?
Will you let me in beyond
The passport-stamped masses
And call me your heart’s friend?

1 Comment

Posted by on 21 February 2017 in Poetry


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One response to “Love Letter to London

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