Sauchiehall street,
beneath the stark, commercial lights
we, the impenetrable conjoined silhouettes,

defied the chaotic convention
of fragmented Glaswegian windows
and street-shattered bottle glass.

We fused together,
incandescent with warmth;
a spectacle to sting the eyes of the lonely.

We loved with no spark,
far beyond mere language and train-timetables.
It was real, as real as neon gas.