Only ever drink Plymouth Gin,
You told me once,
But they were not your words, inherited from another as gospels always are.
I smiled and nodded as you cut the lime,
Dipped the straw and curled your lip, gently.
You were focused and I was focused on you, in my kitchen,
A gift to cherish.
I rolled it around, cupped hand coated in viscosity and draped in your history,
You sipped and swallowed and I rolled my mind to five am and the tears and the fear,
From both to one another,
The saviour and the threat, each to each other,
A closeness previously absent, a nearness growing and enveloping.
It coated the inside of my cheeks, just as you had done so many times,
And I saw you sitting on the floor,
Skirt splayed, in your lounge,
A present of a present.
I swallowed and you nodded,
Approving and keen, just as I was, standing,
Shorts and mud,
Cigarette lolling,
Seven fifty-nine am, look right, the train’s on time,
You walk into my world, and smile into my heart.
I put down the glass and open my mouth,
‘This is me’, said someone else, ‘I wrote the white paper’, he said,
Welcome, I replied,
Distracted already,
Lost already,
Yours already
Adam Jones 