We shared a space once
The roof-room of a Dalston dwelling
Pub and real-life adjacent
A little space for us to play house
White sheets were new to me but I didn’t mind
You used moisturiser and took months
to let me leave things in the bathroom
I wifed downstairs in the kitchen while
you trained for a marathon
Remember when we ran into Ollie in the supermarket?
You wanted homemade pizza,
nothing shop bought, and somehow
blamed me for loving too soon.
I’d rub you through the pockets of your tracksuit while
you washed the dishes. You brought my
washbag to my mum’s to end it all.
On walking past the flat with the white door in the block next to the Shacklewell Arms
There is too much grief in the marrow of the place.
I still love you more than I should.
Galia is a Head of English in London. She has poems in Bad Lilies, Atrium, Dear Reader, Streetcake, Zero Readers and Eat the Storms. She has lectured at Shakespeare Institute, BFI, British Library. Follow her on Twitter @galiamelon