First

When we first met,

Another man tried to grab me

You had one hand and he had the other

You told him you were my brother.

I hadn’t said a word to him so your accent didn’t spoil the ploy.

What must he have thought when you stuck your tongue down my throat

And I wrapped around you with the music?

We didn’t care.

I started to leave with my friends and you frowned at me, jerked your head back in disbelief, that I didn’t try and cement it.

It’s not that I didn’t like you, I just thought you might have been too beautiful to be really interested I suppose.

I was only 18 – I didn’t trust my appeal. You understood yours.

We swapped numbers and I fell in love with you over the next few months.

A drunk woman said “beautiful” in your language, she came and sat with us.

This was our first date.

When she left, you slipped your tongue in my ear right there – ridiculous.

I know you regretted what happened eventually, I remember our argument vivid.

I got dressed angry, makeup streaming. The room a spinning cliche.

All your friends left to go to the restaurant while I screamed the place down,

I hurled my hurt at you and shocked you with my heartbreak.

You wanted to see me before you left, but I couldn’t do it.

My nights were heavy sobs.

I still remember what your face felt like.

Our dark curls matching and

The weight of your head on my shoulder in the kitchen.

And putting after-sun on your cocky self that time – burnt by the British Summer.

You’re so easy to conjure up.

 

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