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

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