Valentine ’89

 

 

coming to love you

over cheese and tuna lunches.

 

coming to know your fad for fish; taste for flight,

fumbling free of an old world,

 

coming to me. I had to hide the visceral slide

of ice that spliced my spine each time your voice shuddered

 

through the tannoy. You’ll never know the tricks

I’d employ to ensure we’d brush, in the corridor.

 

I read The Magus for you

and walked around with an unread Idiot

 

in my top pocket. And held a waiting

rocket in The Stairway to the Stars.


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