all I want for

is the quiet to be gentle with you
warmth to sun my skin against
condensation pearling my glass
oily with booze
and a place where my face
needs no arranging
you have a memory of me
uncoloured by the anxious pall
or at least you act like you do

I have a memory of you before
you straightened your hair
you got a divorce
your shit burnt down
you got all those tattoos
you disappeared overseas
I thought you were beautiful then
it hurt my eyes a little to look at you
because rarely had I seen someone
so specifically you

to me – you were smarter
prettier funnier kinder wilder
than I was ever going to be
you were better coloured in
inside and out of your lines
never a watercolour photocopy tracing
always the new deal
sculptural and realised
taking up all that space
solid as a monument
testament to the hard chisel work of living
as you have lived