You are you are unlike anything, anyone I’ve known,
And you met me in the dark, and I started to see beyond the monochrome.
And quietly, subtly you bloomed.

‘Cos to me you are you will be
Wonders breakthrough.

Now I can’t pretend I don’t miss
Those 17-year-old-girls.
Sweaty hands when we kissed,
Head spinning, toes curled,
As if choosing to exist
We thought we’d changed the world.

Now I am I am, easily bruised, that I know,
Backing up general conversation with Marx or Bourdieu.
But as if not to startle you and I bloomed.

And all I pray, is you are to me what I am to you.

Now I can’t pretend I don’t miss
Those 17-year-old-girls.
Sweaty hands as we kissed,
Head spinning, toes curled,
As if choosing to exist
we thought we’d changed the world.

I am, I am, I am.

But the writer wrote something more subdued:
It’s you let go of my hand whilst he spoke to you.
So much unknown and so much unsaid
I wonder the scripture playing out, while you lay in our bed.
So much to say, and I’m still confused
And maybe I wouldn’t be if I hadn’t been so easily bruised.