Just how does warm weather conjure
the inebriated
&
lovers,
on to
Londons’ Tube?

Are sweaty nights
an aphrodisiac tune,
to an alcoholic groove?

Wavering
tight stepped shuffles,
paired with
googly-eyed,
hand-clasped,
lip-locked,
snuggles.

Inward thought
toothpicking the corners of mouths,
as cheerful eyes spy
the Underground antics of the South.
That off the shoulder dress,
stranger clothes,
newer shoes;
a fashionista bazar,
A fleeting memory is
Winters’ white metaled fire.

Hapless in this weather
what else to do but smile?
Is it not so much easier than to revile?

Warm weather has a mission…
dismiss disgust.
Go on London smile.
It’s a must.

**© Qwey.ku