People you meet.

On the street, pass your feet, return never and never. Not then will you meet.

People you meet

Fill you with such creeps, each passing tone made, your thumbs simply eek.

People you meet 

Vivid dreams. Fast asleep. Wide awake.

Oh it aches and it aches, each swift passing beep. 

People you meet on your screen. 

Scene after scene, then scene after scene.

You endlessly wonder at what could have been.

People you meet. Late in the night. 

A glass of red wine, horror, delight.

Or simply a nice night. 

The moon looks you down and says it’s alright.

People you meet become people you know. 

Suddenly they glow.

Your mum, her son, a warm cup of tea.

“Oh for pete’s sake Jake don’t put your feet on the settee.”

For years on benches, golden bubbles we sapped.  

We laughed and laughed, spilled peanuts on laps.

We huddled in corners, and patted our backs.

And then grew apart, when all that was all that.

We drifted and drifted, but not over spats.

For people we had met and we had met and we had met.

Until finally.

Eventually.

One had been set.

A person had met us, and we had met too.

And they had glowed so much brighter than we had ever known.