She is so sweet to me
her hand around my waist as we walk to work
her smiles aimed specifically at healing hurts
her eyes cutting in and bringing light
she buzzes with the energy of pleasure
that never knows when the game is up
she wears those pretty coats she finds in Paris
but anything she wears looks good

sad then, that she and I are chancers
playing up to see what might have been -
had we found ourselves unlocked behind closed doors
without rings, chains and history -
sad then that our hunger,
a charge in space between,
is the measurement of our shortcomings
and the appetite of dream

So we stand loyal to the order
that binds her to his name,
and I have given up my lover
that I might never love again