So generous with smiles, with touches,
with outbursts of sheer affection,
you kept your deepest thoughts
wrapped up against the cold,
like the way you’d pull your coat about you,
lock your arms beneath your breasts,
letting in not the slightest draught of passing air.
I recall a kiss on the cheek “Goodnight”
like a slap, your tears on the Tube
beyond me to fathom,
your fierce embrace
as you burst through the door
after a day or two away.
What had happened?
What was it that you didn’t say?
Let Me Dream of Her Again
Let me dream of her again…
and often my unconscious obliges.
I meet my memories so completely
that, on waking, I feel your presence
like an inrush of sea air and for hours
it seems as though we walked in step again.
My unconscious guards you jealously:
when the dream has faded, your face
becomes as blank as the face of a sunflower,
intangible, like your words in the takeaway,
“I love you”, a murmur hidden in the sleeve
of your coat and my reply
ringing clearly, making you laugh.
Is that what you had said?