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.