Julius Mandrake, I Hope This Rhymes For You

Give me your hair and I’ll plait it in two,
sit with me please when the train flies through.
Talk to me across table for four minutes
of me, and hours of you.
Sing what you know and take the rest
as license to thrill, take that risk and let it live.
Touch of the feet and shuffle of toe,
under worn torn leather bound Italian brogue,
tied tight to the top and loose to the shin.
Tethered by wire, audiences watch web based widgets,
whilst we journey on, on to limit and end:
Paddington Station, Platform Ten.

Give me your hand and I’ll plait it in two,
two fingers of mine and three from you.
Warm it and hold it,
with your thick glove of violet blue; frosted
by the fierce flutter of winter’s dew.
January takes us, us, further
than the boroughs.
Unknown and untied,
let slip the dogs of war and havoc’s cry.
To resonate and accumulate off walls of London town,
back to us whom stand with tear in eye and snow in frown.