We move slow
in time with our slipping youth
We rush, no
we're slow
to go home

and passing the coffee shops and bars
I would later make my home
I couldn't have ever known
they pass by, a blur, unseen

Her hand
held loose
in the heat
there's no need to push things
we've time...

Then one night
on a sofa in the kitchen
of my father's house
she turned, slow; smiling
and said 'we should'

I could have laughed
smile, full-beaming
I was excited
and all at the same time
I was cautious

We moved slow
tip-toeing down to the car
I didn't know
if I could take another one
another person's whiteness
away...

In a dream I had
more recently
in a bar, when I was feeling particularly old
I thought back
and couldn't remember
why I didn't have her

Then it hit me
I was honest then
I was decent
I was a real man
back then

(2007)