We were just hanging around.
The car park with a cardboard fence
to separate us from **** Alley,
treble bars playing noise
from speakers that faced the street,
enticing the bingers, the splurgers,
to throw up on their cocktails.

A couple walked past,
talking about the morning after pill.
We listened close from a distance,
eyes reddened in the street-light glow,
crime silent for the night,
only in our eyes,
only in our eyes.

We were just hanging around
in our semi-darkened corner,
beer in the back seats,
a box of superkings,
your queen-size bed
our eventual destination,
after the **** and the rain,
after taxis and broken heels.

The moon shone in malignant pain
through the neon and the stalactites,
traffic fumes and traffic lights;
we leant undisturbed on your car door,
a long journey, no direction,
endless travel without motion,
without emotion.

We were just hanging around.
The misfits in a flat-pack world,
half-functioning lighters,
your lipstick still untouched,
the stain of rain on the cathedral.
We were just hanging around
when I fell in love with you,
the way you remained a stalwart blue,
your happiness, and your sadness too.