Six Years

In the moment that I sat opposite you, 

You told me I was nervous because 

You could feel my leg bouncing against  

Yours. I brushed fingers with my Dream 

And found it wanting;

Where you would smile at my smile 

Where you would kiss my forehead 

Where you would brush back my hair

As you did in the mere hours you gave me.

Maybe you made a poor physician, 

Hands shaking to dress the cut of fucking once 

And never again. Maybe I was worth more 

Than blood on the bedsheet to you. 

Maybe. 

I dream 

And my Dream mocked me with 

Pointed finger and pitchy voice: 

When you hugged me, like a man, goodbye,

When you did not walk me to the car.

When my phone was quiet 

After I told you ‘Home safe’, 

After the long cold night drive,

From the little Italian corner you chose 

Before you took me to your room. 

Our first meeting 

In six years, since we were 

School kids on a field.

Round the roads of your college 

In a bar and in a bed.