Purple Gerberas

I went on a date with Abigail from Wales,
now Harleston single mum this Belle of Bridgend,
who vacated the valleys for marriage that failed.
Via loveless POF we met in Diss, John Betjeman's
'dimmest place of all'. From her suitor's clammitt
mushroomed sketchy blooms from Norwich Market,
that had strived in stuffy, sunny carriage for survival.
Yet purple gerberas, they didn't shed a petal.

Darkeyed Abs a selfproclaimed ditzy witterer
(as schorl as pupils those anthracite irises).
Selfeffacing, totes Taffy, wellfit witty ditherer.
A modest, mumsy, Celtic sexkitten. From Diss,
she drove us in circles somewhere even remoter,
cutely got us lost. Upon backseat of her Toyota
the gerberas juddered, lost th'odd purple petal,
but all I noticed was the anhygoel gal.

Top date since longterm crashed 'n' burned,
Cupid's evangelism made a lame heart leap!
Attraction & rapport in equal measure earned
a second, no less romantic for being cheap.
Held hands like oldies down the aisle (at Aldi's);
tender tonsil hockey over bigspender coffees
on bench by the Mere. Love's pink spark as piquant
as gerberas' purpleness, our lips lockt in agreement.

X-tailed texts from dawn to dusk to discover
something we'd both been waiting for between Abs & I.
Floodgate touch of third date, felt fate to be lovers,
tremulous tryst gushed torrid for the rusty & shy.
Selfconscious, she'd get undressed under the duvet,
but her lemniscate chassis no Red Dragon cliche
of a tat could hide. Gerberas also disrobed, 
as if coming storm whipped off their corolla-clothes.

She's horizontal hourglass, it's time I tumesce!
Looker like Liz, but with boyo brio of Burton,
tho' her 90s vernacular was winning quirk less
Under Milk Wood & more orange-Zorro'd turtle,
Michelangelo. She dropboxed me her fingering keys,
her lilac-lacquered luppers smashing 'Für Elise'.
Cruciverbalist teachingassistant my Welsh milf,
but no cryptic clue when gerberas began to wilt. 

Abs baked her boy a b-day choc hedgehog,
'Puddington Boar' pun laboured o'er flantery emails.
But gooey privetpig not main course of our dialogue,
no, I learned she was a Dadi's girl who went off the rails
when his cancer came back for good. Last 'Nos da, cariad'
haunted like hiraeth. Now Abs swore she'd bags a stepdad
for her lil' leekeater, spare him long loss. Green shoots 
stalks in vase may ape, 'cept for petal scree, no roots.

No offthepeg patriarch to patch up a family
is dumpee Diazepampering his broken
calon. No Ant to her Cleo, no Gavin to her Stacey
- wherefore chirpsing 'bout cwtching, softlyspoken
soul-selfies, aprication in a darkling embrace?
Abigail blanks my calls; I soliloquise in cyberspace.
To so much heart-mulch I bet binned bouquet now rots.
Purple gerbera wheel of fortune landed on she-loves-me-not.