Other people's names

He writes anonymously these days
using symbols
and we don't meet any more.

It is just a love.
Once though
there was flesh.

I caught the morning train
sat there
expanding and contracting until I could turn the key in his door.

I knew where everything would be kept
but the neatness of it all
caused me to stand still for a moment
savouring adrenalin.

Then as I read,
his rich admiring use of adjectives
and the tragic beauty of other women's names
and their long hair
fed my rage.

Another time I went straight ahead in front of him
ripped up his book.
I kept one page intact
and waved this
speechless
holding on for dear life as we kissed.