moving in (summer 2010)

you said the hairs on my arms were fluffy
and abhorred my limited taste in bedclothes
But on that bed they made sense and so did you
In my garish 3 stripe jacket
Facing back to front
Your arms outstretched, eyes intent, reading Henry Rollins
(You bent the cover back and I felt small for minding)
Your pure prescence
Natural, easy, impulsive
Took us onto Hampstead Heath in the late night rain
There were four, but I had eyes and ears for one alone
The next afternoon in Soho
You disappear with your boyfriend
Young and curious
In a fashion I can't remember ever knowing
And I feel tired and anachronistic, though mostly tired