This Sort of Thing...


You Never Said



I missed sixty-one

Surely not all of them

I knew you for three


There must have been

A glass of something

In the Brewery Tap

Or wine bar 

Where meatheads met chiffons

Where Alexander met Luther

Their musical wallpaper

Not matching the colour scheme

In our dream house


No memory of cards

Those forget-me-nots

We forgot to send

No precious souvenir

In paper and bows

To glitter and glow

For evermore


You never said

I too tend not to say

Just another day


I didn’t know it was today

Until last month

As brambles and thorns cleared

Reams of the past reappeared

The Cocteaus’ Bluebeard

On repeat


Nothing written down

Only blank pages

In my imaginary diary

You must have said

You must have said so many things


Maybe hidden beneath

Decades of angel dust

There’s a scribbled note

Something I wrote

So you’d know I was there


I’m still there


And I haven’t missed today

Today all I’ll miss

Is my Siren


You Never Said

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