SOFT BOY SPY

My heart quickened when I saw his face
Or at least what remained above the mask.
Even quicker when he brushed past,
The smell of musk strong through his T-Shirt.
Then the smell of pizza,
On account of the contents of my tote bag
My Turner Contemporary tote bag from a recent visit to Margate;
God I must look like a wanker
A girl carrying a bag from a gallery inside another gallery
The Tate.
Sitting writing a poem in notes,
With a gallery tote bag
And a margarita aroma.
I wonder if he noticed?
The face below the mask.