Your head
Tilted to one side
With your hair
A shade of mahogany
Like a river
Flowing down
To frame that
Joking look of
Contempt
You wore your bandana
And my hair was still long
And we looked quite Bohemian

It was a summer's day
the first of June
Your scent still in my
Quivering, flaring
Nostrils
As I choke back tears
And force myself to look
At a photograph
From the first of June

If I remember rightly
I'd been drinking
Cough syrup
To try to find out
What effect it would have
As you smoked your
Menthol cigarettes
Which I hated
And I teased you
And you teased me
And we walked to your house
Because your father was out:
He disapproved
Because I was two years older
(In reality, only eighteen months)

Such tender
Closeness
And blissful
Intimacy
As we enjoyed
For a few sacred hours
That sacred afternoon
I cannot describe.

We watched an Italian film
(The subtitles helped you
Translate what you could)
About lovers
Separated
How were we to know
We would not last
Much beyond the end of summer?

Another vignette:
I walked you from my house
To the bus stop
(This was, I think, the start of August.
Only one month left, my darling!)
It rained so hard
Our umbrella collapsed
And we laughed
And danced in the rain
And kissed

I only remember
As I tidy my desk
Which sees so little use
And find your photograph
In a bag full of memories