We never made it to Ikea
Nevermind
It was just an idea
That one day we’d join the queue
For Swedish meatballs on the M62
In flatpack Heaven on a retail park
And hide in there long after dark
Just you and me in the living room section
Reading instructions on wardrobe erection
Smile at each other over LED candles
In between learning about fixtures and handles
In the kitchen, we cook like the Gordons
Ignoring the safety warnings and cordons
Sit down at a nordic oak table
Better be sure the alarms are disabled
The infrared sensors would never miss
The delicate motion when we kiss
Emboldened, we abandon
Our imaginary tea
And repair to the bedroom
From where we can see
The late night drivers on the motorway
Firefly eastward
Into the grey
On our way out we stop by the nursery
I make clear that my interest is cursory
Until you rest your head on my shoulder
And I concede
Maybe
When we’re a bit older
We never made it to Ikea
Nevermind
It was just an idea

Check out a poem about the cycle of life: The Pike and Peregrine.

Or perhaps some Walt Whitman?