Other Loves

At 4 a.m. In Camden Street

We soaked our hours in pale ale
and comfortable half-truths,
you, me, and friends, our chatter
two-stepping play, folk and lies.

Carefree, we were, enjoying
our evening's conversations,
that easy bonhomie of
the met but un-familiar.

Then, after crowds and music
and cigarettes with strangers,
you, me and peacefulness -
a small space with books and port.

Careless, we were, entwined,
me sat, you kneeling, your
eyes drunk with mischief under
wild tangles of red hair and smoke.

And, suddenly, you smiled and,
with urgent enquiry,
sought assurance like a child -
for love not made small by words.