I have been far away from you, my love
The tea pot, the newspapers, the garish flash of tesco coupons,
they are your defensive lines and I cannot catch your eye across
the trenches: can I use your grappling hook, just a moment,
let me lasso it into your iris so you can see me –
waving the white flag. Can I come across, my darling?
will you meet me on the bridges, before your little men
light their fires under us.