Long Black Coat

February 20, 2007

The time I took a taxi back from Nottingham
night flying by in dizzying squares of blackness
foreign landscape, usually only glimpsed from trains
I rang you on my mobile. Drunk. Voice slurring consonents
You were pissed off, but you needn’t have done a thing.
Except, when the car slid into Leicester Station
you were there, striding with a purpose towards us-
your long black coat, looking like a boxer, or a bear;
hair wild from sleep, face pale as moonlit water. You
paid the man and caught me, falling through the door to
half carry me, through the early hours of morning
back to yours – and there you laid me down on fabric
your soft brown curls, pale face, cold hands, all mixed up and
saying nothing. Your long black coat inside my head.

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