50 Wimpole St.

I think Big Ben must be strolling the high street tonight

I can’t see him but his voice rings out clear

thought I’d shut the world out behind the blinds

this business of ours is fraught with dangerous desires

this business is better at a distance

this business of affection

an affliction of the heart

this business of love

a flood along the banks of the soul

an unheralded season

unwelcome suspense

of the reasons for reason

no one can know us

no one must guess

when the pale robin

quits the nest

to launch up at the moon

closing the gates

on her unremitting gloom