[Inspired by a photo by Munia Khan posted on Facebook]

I gave you red roses
as a sign of my love,
and now they lie there,
cast down on the pavement.

Red petals, green leaves,
faded and dry,
all life gone from them,
shrivelled and dead,
like the love that you once said
you felt for me.
Only thorns are left
to remind me of your heartlessness.

Is this what my love means to you?
What did I do
to change your mind?
Is there no hope for me any more?

I look forward
against all my instincts
with a kind of sad pleasure
to the moment
when we shall say goodbye,
even though I know
I shall never see you again.
And without a photograph of you,
which can never be mine,
I must inevitably lose the detail
of your lovely face,
your gentle smile.
But the real you,
open, welcoming,
tolerant, friendly,
– the nervousness
when I feel I am about to see you,
the pleasure
that lights up in me when you are there,
the disappointment
when you are not there –
you will remain in my heart,
a dear memory.
You will be in my mind forever,
I am certain.
That is the least you deserve,
and I must be satisfied
as far as possible.

Newly arrived at the edge
of the rainforest,
I explore the camp,
our temporary home.
Under a shelter there is movement.
I go to investigate
and there you are.
You turn to me
and our eyes meet.
Impulsive, I reach out
to stroke your long, pale blonde hair,
and you, equally impulsive,
encircle me with your arms,
your soft hair brushing my cheek.
I am filled with a strange,
yet familiar feeling,
in love at first sight
with a woolly monkey.

Once we were friendly.
Then we were more than friends.
Now there is nothing.
Must this be how it ends?

(On a line from Mandelstam - 'I have learned the science of parting')

There was so much we never did together,
places to go and visit hand in hand,
so much we could have learned about each other,
so many things to say before goodbye.

Nobody ever knew how much I suffered;
but by applying all the skills I'd learned
I always coped. My strategies were successful;
the ache of separation always eased.

So many times the same has happened to me,
but every time the pain returns anew.
Just as intense, although it's so familiar,
regret comes like a band around my heart.

Falling in love, each time's a new experience;
the same thing goes for learning how to part.

There were four of us that day.
We all lost our virginity at the same time.
. . . well, more or less the same time,
there were a few minutes between.

All that fuss she made,
you’d have thought we were killing her.
She told the police she didn’t want to lose hers,
but we said she did,
and there were three of us
to back each other up.
We said she was hot for it,
and they believed us.

There were bruises, of course,
but we were all pretty excited, her as well,
and it got rather active.
The police agreed
it wasn’t all that unusual,
but they took photos,
in case they needed evidence.

I wish they’d given us copies.
They’d have made a good souvenir
of our first time.
The other lads would have had a good laugh.

What did she lose anyway?
Her self-respect?
Well, self-respect's cheap enough,
and when you consider it,
if it had gone the other way,
we could have had a criminal record
and lost our freedom.
So, all in all,
it was a pretty good result.

Pity about the photos, though.
That would have been the icing on the cake.