a black cab rolled forward/
the air laced with Manchester spice/
two young comrades/
riding through city life/
down Oxford Road/
up Princess Street/
the Conti club playing the familiar old songs/
his bushy side burns framed his confident face/
and she noticed his tight black jeans/
his aura of style/ his Leonard Cohen phase/
he wore the night/
black shirt tucked beneath black waistcoat’s fold/
those blue eyes held her gaze/
she saw joy reflected there/
every glance igniting light/
his lips curled like rivers to the sea/
and she dreamed of being tethered to he
