I like to imagine we remember those moments
when touching tongues
we ran through the sensations of sex
to emerge in each others arms.
Those events so intense
when you purred like a kitten at my stroking
that I sent you death threats
and you showed me opinion pieces in the Guardian
to prove you never came.
Oh the joys of left-wing love.
So I'm not surprised that the unlovely, and unlovable,
blow themselves up in railway carriages.
And that you find reason to defend them.
You were always resentful
of the fireplace in my rented room
were pleased when when I gave up hope
of finding a world that matched your own.