I liked not liking you much.
I liked playing safe. Not being bowled over by you
was part of the thrill.
At the King’s Palace Hotel
you couldn’t take your hands off me,
you couldn’t care less
how quickly or stupidly we made love,
so long as it happened.
So why should it ever end?

I never dreamed you were serious
when you put me on probation
for ‘loitering without intent’.
We could still talk from time to time, you said,
but we weren’t going out any more,
was that understood?
If only you didn’t still love me
I’d be all right. I could think about you calmly,
without crying, or writing letters.


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