Taste

The worst taste in the world

Is a pretty girl that smokes.

I've Got To Stop Falling In Love With Girls On Trains.

But the setting was perfect for that kind of thing;

Cruising effortlessly through barren Winter fields.

Buzzards above swooping and diving;

Looping and gliding.

The running fox...

Her peroxide locks.

Bright yellow starlight from the quivering sun,

Bathing the dead-looking bare hawthorn in sympathetic gesture;

The ocre lichin upon it's bark chuckling in hibernative delight.

Mossy pillows laying sparse among the plethora of cliche January fauna.

Dry hollow dormant grasses.

(The brown eyes behind her glasses)

Her hat woven with gold.

We both watch the cattle out in the cold.

The bull looks so proud.

If I were a lark I would begin to sing,

To watch her face,

For any joy I might bring.

Pale skin;

Delicate and doll-like,

The fur coat on her shoulders

Brought the outside in.

I knew immediately I was lost.

A station came, and she stood to depart.

A little skip to the platform

And a skip of my heart.

I have GOT to stop falling in love,

With girls on trains...