As we approach time moves faster
her late gate pass wasting away
though we're running through the wet
and waltzing through the traffic spray.
Breathing heavily we arrive
weaving through the pairs of leaving
clustered lusting cuddling couples
whose ardour thrives a five to ten.
My girl guides us to the last tree.
We grin and grapple futilely.
Those sentry lamps that guard the path
a checkpoint no charlie shall pass
then knife-faced Nora rings the bell
consigning men to outer hell.