Our first evening in London he

Keeps his arm around my waist and I

Laugh at everything

He kisses me in the door of the flat

And doesn’t kiss me again until we wake up

The next morning beneath the frost-ridden window with

Sunlight trying to get through

We eat an English breakfast and go to a book store where

He buys me every book I point out

I will read them later

When I am wanting for an escape

Fog is lace wrapped around my neck

Poetic when I’m in love

Rope when I’m not

All I have to do is pull it tight

Kick away the chair

Dead

He has gone before two months have

Fog is a rope

The chair stays steady

I meet another and

Another and

Another and

Soon I realize

The London weather is not for me.