Remember sitting on the kerb at Gerrard Street?
Under amber lanterns viewing London at her knees?
I remember your green eyes dazzling in the foil box of our oriental grease.
Like a proud parent, I watched you master the art of picking chicken with chopsticks.
On your fifth attempt, you laughed
and as your mouth opened,
I saw the thickest piece of green pak choi slithering across your teeth.
I didn’t have the heart to tell you.
On our way home,
you asked why everyone was looking at you on the tube.
I tucked your fringe behind your ear and whispered,
“Because you’re the most beautiful girl on the Northern Line”.
You blushed and beamed with a rose tint,
and the runway strip of green pak choi slithered off your front tooth and onto your bottom lip.
And I knew that at that place, and at that time
no one in the world saw you like I did.
written as part of LDN Captured exhbition