Salsa workshop with foody words.

Thinly veiled.

Glossed with rain we walked
from Haymarket to somewhere else,
our brollies in our left hands, right hands
softening in pockets. You told me
it had taken all your strength not to ask
the question that morning.

The soupy road swilled round my yellow wellies,
glistened with all the things I must have said
to persuade you to delay.
Even now, slightly on the wet side,
I am dreaming of the words you might have said.