There was a limit to our love.
No small distance – five hundred miles –
Put paid to us ever walking up the aisle.
Jetting in on German Wings,
You met me in linen trousers,
Charcoal vest, kohl-lined eyes.
Fist raised to greet me.
Taller than I remembered. Almost
As tall as me. I did like that.
We stayed in someone else’s flat:
A demilitarised Eurozone. I didn’t mind,
Though I never did understand the who,
What, or why we were hiding from.
We spoke very little, but that was fine.
Gothic Cologne was drab and bland,
And finding somewhere to dine,
Your eagerness to please pained me.
We watched young couples reel in the street,
Drunk as spinning tops. Next day,
In glib sunshine we biked beside the Rhine,
Startled flustered pedestrians. Later,
Cycling to the cinema, on the cusp
Of dusk, a small dog reared up and bit me
On the leg. You didn’t stop, or look back.
On a daytrip to Amsterdam, I forgot
My passport, and your quickfire German
Convinced the border guard to let us go.
Awkwardly skirted the coffee shops
And red lights. Fell into a bar.
Fell into a fight. Fell quiet.
When man took a shine to you, I knew.
Back in Cologne, we listened to Feist,
And the sky fell in on us, one last time.