You're waiting <br />under the Arrivals board <br />in your flying black mac <br />(or magician's gown... <br />it's an academic distinction...) <br />your silver coils of curls <br />flowing from your worried frown. <br /> <br />And when the train at last <br />rocks and rolls me up to Platform Ten, <br />I'm running then, and running fast, <br />upstream of tired faces in grey suits <br />and I'm colliding with your warmth, <br />meeting your soft mouth <br />with my own eager kiss <br />and knowing that all day <br />we both have longed for this.<br /><br />Janice Windle<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/for-d-nall-arrival/
