The perfect place to meet my beau?
A penthouse roof, an August night.
My eyes will shine, I’ll look divine
My features bathed in neon light.
He’ll creep up close and jump my bones,
He knows I won’t put up a fight.
And as our bodies intertwine
I’ll arch my back, he’ll hold on tight.
The noise we make will raise complaints.
(The neighbours here are so uptight.)
My ideal partner in this crime?
A big, black tom who doesn’t bite.
© Helen Lewis 2009