First Kisses on the Underground

As we parted I wondered how many people share their first kiss in an underground station? The evening was lovely, let's do this again, oh my I’ve had such a nice time. And then they lean in and embrace, the dingy world around them disappearing, the sounds of chattering, barriers, the squeaking of an escalator all mixing in together before they are sucked down the plughole, and you are lost in your moment of saliva and tongues and wondering hands losing themselves on arms and in hair. Blurred couples 4 drinks in, sharing a hazy snog with cigarette breath, quiet, anxious teenagers tilting forward with a lack of grace, two baby deer on the ice, coming away pink cheeked after a nervous join. Those dark dirty subterranean hideaways that are the home of embarking trains and relationships. Of people going their separate ways for the evening, that date hadn't quite been that good, or maybe they were just a classy pair, who didn't do that sort of thing so early on. Down the escalator, don't look back, don't look back, look back, did she look back? Did she see me look back? Oh I shouldn't have looked back! Such an unromantic place to finish the evening, neither daylight nor twilight nor moonlight to bathe a pair but a light orange, unflattering and flickering. Dank tiles and dust and suffocation. Or maybe it is romantic, a sign that neither party cares where they are. All there is is you and me my dear, nothing else matters. And I will hold you close and forget our surroundings, and lose myself in you for just a second because in a few moments you will be northbound and I will go south, and all I will be able to do is to think about our first kiss in that fucking tube station. If only we both lived south of the river.