here because it makes sense
here because all roads lead to here

here because the button
the one from your Camden

charity-shop coat
dozes in the palm of my hand

that prickly sort of fabric
its bands of dried blood maroon

you might remember this
in a way not the way I remember

the discovery of someone’s
shed secondary skin

lived in now to be lived in by you
your magnolia branches

but two winters later
the button fell off

brown bauble
walnut of doom

and now here between the bras
the much slept with stuffed teddy

I hold the last inanimate relic of you
the coat’s smell a waning memory