Love On The Top Floor Poem by matthew broxton

Candles are alight,
wax dribbles down it's edge,
plates parallel, cutlery too.

Romantic evenings in a council flat,
a boarded-up window,
and a Burberry hat.
Drinking wine to the sound of Winehouse's Back to Black,
mom's left me a message on my phone
probably wont call her back.

I serenaded my missus with my ringtone,
I asked her out by text,
we've been together for two years,
a wedding will be next.

I Love her- I scrawled it on a viaduct wall,
I want this to go on,
not another interrupting call.

We met on a roundabout,
she was on the rebound,
I was too,
her hair is as orange as Irn Bru.

I might not be good at romance and stuff,
I might be the only one who's seen her in the buff,
electric sparks tingle through my fingers,
every time we hold hands,
when I look in her eyes,
I know she understands.