I started drinking black coffee just to impress you.
So you would think I was uncomplicated but full of interesting thoughts.
You said you hated the hippy streets of Brighton, but like my father, I fell in love with your bohemian ways.
You wore Prada suits and always brown leather shoes. Had an apartment overlooking the Victorian gardens but really, you were just a business man gagging to play.
You liked your liquor. You tasted of dark ale.
And you sketched. With a ballpoint pen downplaying how good you really were. Just like my father.
Your smell of Turkish soap was subtle but it calmed my immature and urgent ways. Otherwise sometimes…I think I would have devoured you.
I daydreamed of comforting hugs, while I wetted your kitchen counter sitting there playing you were the cat.
I’ve wanted to fall in lust ever since I was 16. Ever since I crashed my first butterfly.
And I do it differently each time.
More vividly, merciless.
Just a bit of fun. Your intentions failed to reach me.
I know you saw me like the strained relationship with your kids. Impotence and football games once a month.
And I saw you like him. Mesmerised by your reading lines. Intoxicated by your old age.
It was love town. For a whole 5 minutes and 10 seconds.