Park Wine

I remember that patch of grass

Where we sat on a weekend afternoon in July

I made daisy chains and you taught me to juggle

We drank red wine from plastic cups

Life was infinite

I was happy


You were in my tshirt

I tucked a flower behind your ear

The grass was so green.

And I remember

Another time

Another heart

Climbing up a tree in Richmond Park

Smiling at the deer

(My kindred spirits)

It was a London drizzle kind of day

All fog and mystery

(Not unlike the brooding blonde sat across from me)

We talked about Proust

And the universe

And what to have for dinner

We drank red wine from plastic cups

I was happy

And so enamoured with life and discovery and potential

You flicked your scarf over your shoulder

Flat cap on

Blue eyes piercing yet soft.

And I remember a summer in New York

Dumbo, Jay Street

A lighthouse under the arches

Beer and wine on tap

I blew bubbles for the children

They giggled as their parents sipped prosecco

You read Virginia Woolf behind the bar

Time was suspended

What was the day

The year

The time

I climbed behind the bar as the sun set

We mused about fashion and poetry

The colour of the sky as the sun dipped behind the Manhattan bridge

We drank red wine from plastic cups

My teeth were stained

You still wanted to take my picture

Nothing made sense in theory

Yet everything was as it should be in practice.

The Romanian markets

The sweaty nights with sirens and windows wide open

The way we knew it was always going to end

And somehow that made the unfolding all the more sweeter.