Your eyes were neither dark nor glittered.
I plied you with wine, said ‘Listen, you’re from Leicester.’
We forgot about all of our black brackish seas
lapping at consciousness, dreamt brinies
cast astern, haunting waters abandoned for sure feet.
Here we were giants biting bodies by gripped waists
so bodies stay still. Time ravages men.
Below us was a man running as if his life depended
on it, harsh sun at his back.
We didn’t even move as the sun swallowed the day beneath
a tyrian darkened horizon.
Hints of shallow pools, shackled to ice
we listened adrift
and I left you then, spent two weeks
playing black jack, drinking four euro
Bordeaux with a Spaniard called Romeo.
I can’t say anything is still true but I imagine you always
disappear on the road. Catch your breath
and burst and cease to be.
I was silent this morning.
I was alone waiting for light to wake
and I realised we haven’t had such a clear night
since the post office closed.
Only a fever, delirium, not a definite end