I saw you,

through the haze,

the other night

whilst you were dressed in tight fitting jeans

and with the selected primrose

jumper that you always wore

when believing yourself

to be an agent provocateur,

your hand on his leg, the soft stroke

of indiscretion;

I watched without care,

for a brief moment,

till I knew the secret

of your smile,

and then forgot you,

as the haze grew clearer.

 

Ian D. Hall 2018.