Do you remember the room? I do,
Sitcoms would titter on the old television,
the three of us on my old springy bed,
only one of us was paying attention,
I had thoughts of you instead.
In these shaded memories of moonlight,
your skin was warm and soft,
paying no mind to the comedy,
as life’s tragic drama unfolded before me.
Our hands would touch and
separate; almost like they were dancing,
entities other than our own,
flirting for us, deliberately glancing.

Do you remember the house? I do,
big and old and cheap, but real.
An unused living room as we’d live,
we’d live our lives in bedrooms,
only leaving to corner one another,
in that kitchen with the broken window.
In these shaded memories of moonlight,
the dance would continue, to and fro,
your cheese and my steak,
your cargo pants and my jeans,
back and forth, on we go.

Do you remember the city? I do,
buses covered with graffiti,
poses taken on trains heading towards debauchery.
These shaded memories of moonlight,
started with the night you arrived,
on chaos the taxi driver thrived,
a kiss on the cheek was too far.
It was my first awakening,
to how far people would slump,
your bags were heavy and stairs many,
but a gentleman I aimed to be,
on your first night in my city.

Do you remember it? I do,
that demoralising goodbye,
I was too proud to show emotion,
in these shaded memories of moonlight,
I wish I’d shown devotion,
your crocs by the side of my bed,
you seemed too want to say goodbye,
properly, too young and too foolish,
regret leaves a bitter taste in my head.

I hope you remember it. I do,
I know we’ve both gone and lived,
we’ve grown up, we’ve moved on, but,
the shaded memory of moonlight,
is nice to remind us,
at times I do think about,
how that face I do miss.