Friendly spies. You know who you are.

Clapham



Imperfect;
   My electric skin feels your track,
   with your dotted eyes to quietly watch
   but my super senses know you're back
   to see if it's me and work me out.

   This is me, you think I've changed?
   writing words aimed just for you
   with all the syllables specially arranged
   by pretty rules I've barely caught.

   The engine blabs the newest page
   then seconds later you hit my stats
   and I trap your spying in my cage
   which churn out later and I'm surprised.


Perfect; (will this please you more?)
   I lingered lonely on a train
   took the tube in the pouring rain
   got there first and, door unlocked
   always first, but first to stop.
   Once a week the loudest loafer
   cracked-glass eyes on the chill-out sofa
   full of promise but no commitment
   I failed to please and caused resentment.
   But final straws and provocation
   were idiots with incantation
   who, if a prophet it was missed
   his words so foreign and they kissed
   the both of us at once goodnight
   his a drama, and mine a flight.