You came into my life.
You, with the sweetness of your mother’s perfumes,
you! – with your gaudy frills and
yes, even still – you – wrapped up in loud laughter,
your knee bare under the table.
The life you carried in your suitcase
was not mine.
It was a chaos of old photographs
in the folds of your dresses.
So elegantly, so unlike you –
we rearranged our brief affair,
that I could but stand in awe
as the ribbons came untied, and with them
our love collapsed
to the floor
in a heap of white and pink, and nothing more.