we wore pork pie hats

we listened to Patti Smith rage

we made love on your old milk crate

bed my blood in your veins

I bought you a book of love poems

by Neruda you gave me

your mouth bending into morning

my tongue trailed along your back

you quivering in the soft light

we talked about India

we talked about Rishikesh

I told her she should see the sunrise

over the Ganges.