The 9:40 Slow.

That stranger in the train,

A pretty face and a handsome stature.
Always seeming casual, yet cautious.
While watching me and being watched-
An impish game of glancing, pretending and hiding.
The 9:40, our playground,

And in what harmony we were always there-
You never early, me never late.
A fortnight it played out.

But now the empty platforms,
Or so they seem ?
I have been coming early and leaving late
But no sign of you like the winters, last.
Have you changed times ?
Or have you moved away
from the city and me ?
I hope its neither,
But I'm sure its one.
And yet everyday I reach early, 

and leave late.
I let the train of our dreams pass,
And five more too - plus one,
And another one in a hope.
Now as I wait

To catch a glimpse of  thee,

The descending stairs- expecting you,
I catch smiling strangers looking.
Not you, not like you
New muses.
I think I will fall in love again.