And why are you still in my head? 

In my chest,

In my soul?

Engulfed by disdain, disgust and love.

And I am so lone.

In the middle of Oxford Street crowds

I want your advice that never helped

I want your forehead kisses that I rejected.

Longing for you on dark silent nights.

To debate: am I ever truly alone?

Or does your phantomlike presence ignite and guide...

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It’s 1:30 am.

He takes me away from the others unpacking,

opens the front door to the first night

in our first home and squirts WD-40

over both hinges, explains

WD is water dispersal,

NASA concocted this stuff

to keep fields of rockets

from turning orange, then burnt umber.

He heard this on his pocket radio

cycling along blustery North London roads

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