We Will Always Have Girona
I thought of you today, and that funny way
you had of sipping your drink which made
me think of Girona in September. And, I seem
to remember, we made a promise then that
we would meet there again, no matter what
the circumstance and if, purely by chance,
we were still unattached, we'd share a kiss
and reminisce about the years in between.
Our separate lives, your husbands, my wives,
and we'd laugh and wonder why the years had
been so kind to us. And, in that little bistro caff
we'd drink our coffee and laugh at the wrinkles
and lines and our designs for each other now
we were freed from the vows we gave to others.
Free, at last to become one with each other and
spend the rest of our days together, you and I,
at last, forever. But the text changed all that,
the one I received whilst I was sat in the coffee
shop in Pimlico, where I know you used to go with
a friend who was now sending me this tweet,
saying the illness was short and she had to be very
discrete. Only family attended, least said, soonest
mended. And in an instant, like the coffee, Girona
was gone. Our ill fated tryst, vanished like the mist
that was pooling the pavement and, with it, it seems,
the hopes and dreams of two star crossed lovers.
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