Something told me it was over;
Actually It was Etta James.
When I sensed,
You and him kissing.
Istanbul Modern walking down the rain poured path,
Clear my suede shoes.
They´re not blue!
No I left them at the causeway between here and now.
We both ended up wet in the rain of Galata Bridge wet fish.
“Over there is the Spice Market!”
“You took me there, I felt nothing!”
I mused on this as the rain seeped into my jacket.
Over a decade since I was awarded this honour.
Actually any lager will do – it´s a great place to hide.
My father patrolled.
In a time before my time.
Purple helmets bursting into flames.
I hit a tree full of poets,
A poet tree.
Broken face would be dismissed by the new age of travellers.
It was just a consequence.
“Shall I grab this?”
Flattering at ten pm
Late night dalliances!
She would not come tomorrow,
Devout male needed, pure, chaste, unavailable-
Don´t do it boy!
Waiting, Subliminally smelling!
We´ve done three of the eight, I said.
Not impressed, still down from the Dutch angle.
So as the sacred mystery loomed we did the deed then she tried to hide the body.
“I´ll see you there.”
Not wanting to return to the scene of her crime.
Wisdom packed into queues.
I cant be bothered this time.
She gleamed in the desultory sunshine!
“I have a new job! I am so happy! I will be so busy I will never see you again!”
I sat in the hotel, wet white sheets, crusted with missed love.
“OK I understand…
Then he waited.