J. Burgess

August 16, 1999 - Dundonald, Belfast
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In August last year
A travelling girl came to Glasgow –
She was a porcelain Australian flannel flower
I had matched with her on one of those dreadful apps
“You have came all the way to Scotland” Wow!
That whole game feels like a cowboy showdown, but it worked

We spent three nights together, one was my birthday night
Knowing we probably won’t see each other again
We’d joke I’d fly over every sea –
Just to see the sparkle in her eyes
One of the nights we made her a ring, I wrote her a letter
And I drove to Wales for one last teary departure

In a whole year after that
Wrote over twenty letters,
Her ring arrived, and so did that poem
She was still a stripper, but she had a cat now
I wrote that I feel the distance and miss her hands
She’d become flustered and it sent those warm feelings down my chest
Her cold lips would touch my cheek, reassuring me that she exists

Parting now, I still think of her
Beautiful and I don’t write. We tried
She wondered if I’m easily bored to love
Why didn’t I just chase her, those pale blue eyes, reflecting
The ocean is too big
I just love a passionate fleeting romance
Well, useful to be aware of that.

She exists in the bottom drawer of my oak wardrobe
That box filled with her dusty letters
And an exotic polaroid that she sent
It brings a tear to my eye when I open it.
Unknown to the stripper. She wasn’t
Alone (for now)
Distance just never works for me, oh well.
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