by cricketjeff on June 23, 2010. © Jeff Green, All rights reserved
In between her dowdy colleagues she is eighteen carat gold.
On the grass she bares her body to the summer lunchtime rays
And is unaware her tanning is completed by his gaze.
In the meeting she sits dazzled by the way he grasps the case,
She sees more than boring business in the wrinkles on his face.
When he’s talking she’s enraptured and the numbers come alive;
She’d believe him if he told her every pair of twos made five.
When she started he had seen her and been captured by her smile,
She had seen the senior partner and admired his sense of style,
But he never thought she’d see him and she felt about the same;
Cupid loves to make mere mortals into pieces for his game.
In the lift next to each other they are far too shy to talk,
She will head off to her bus stop, he prefers a daily walk.
Each cocooned by lonely daydreams, each must nurse a wounded heart,
As they head off to their evenings lived four hundred yards apart.
After months a major contract, everyone can celebrate,
There’s a meal and space for dancing and a bar till very late.
After nine our two go missing, no-one notices the change,
Brought about by hours of kissing that Dutch courage can arrange.
Monday morning there’s no bus-stop, and there’s not the normal stroll,
But there is an urgent taxi and a fight for self-control.
And at lunchtime she’s not tanning, he’s not all alone upstairs,
In the boardroom they’re discussing future plans and grand affairs!
Well, that’s me, extralongameter and silly love songs!