The office blocks may be devoid of suited and booted folk, but tucked away in their homes, freelancers - and perhaps those who are wedded to their work - are beavering away. Me included. Deadline to hit before the commissioning editor reaches her desk tomorrow morning ...

But there was time for lunch in the pub next door! And a poem?

Redemption of sorrow

Remember the deal: his heart, your soul
Each time he utters soft words of love
Demanding the ransom: pounding flesh

Every contour of your misery
Melts as his moist lips brush past your skin
Penetrating your aura of fear

Take off your cloak of raw reluctance
In your nakedness admit some hope
Of a bed-shared fun-filled tomorrow

Nigh time, for redemption of sorrow

Actually, it's an acrostic ...

To see other poems, visit my website: annerainbow.me.uk