as we lay stretched across your living room couch at 4am

in your oh so posh pad in putney,

i discovered that the musicals are where you find yourself,

where pierre angleterre comes alive

 

legs knotted into each others 

eyes murmuring to look at screen

blurry from too much of the alcohol 

they could hear you singing all way down street,

and yes, you have a powerful voice but even I would rescind

 

and even though you called me stephen

and our drunken dancing smashed your coffee table,

i had never felt so safe than my ear pressed against

your soft hair chest to hear your heart's gentle rhythm

but drowned out by you singing so loudly every single note of les mis

 

don’t try so hard, you’re lovely

you will find your safety net, maybe with a guy actually called stephen

and i’m sure you will write a poem like my poem called ‘one day’

and that day you will truly know

 

in fact you will sing it, maybe yours won’t include pistachio

but you will find your own soft and gentle musicality, your flow

i promise you darling you will find it, no more the alcohol -

you will be drunk on happiness, but,

you won’t be drunk with me.