Her Little Blue Number Poem by Joe Hughes

I told her that I loved her,
Her body then petite,
In her tight blue sixties tunic,
She was bubbly, slim and neat.

A hint of deepest cleavage,
A pocket on her breast,
A hemline shaved to mid thigh,
In her room I'd be her guest.

Before we climbed those stairs,
We kissed and cuddled by a wall.
It was urgent, rough and teenage,
She had me in her thrall.

We would spend some nights together,
Eating Piccalilli, Ritz and cheese.
I would taste her deepest secrets,
To Procul Harum's sexy keys.

We have changed in forty years,
That cuddling wall's no longer there.
Those Piccalilli, Ritzy evenings
Replaced by crosswords, which we share.

I still love her just as much,
Though her body's less petite.
We still have our teenage moments,
Middle aged, much more discrete!