L ~ You and I in juxtaposition

A friend of mine once told me
on the slanted path through the canopied verge
there are none more arrogant
than men in their 40's
You took me through your salty town
past a bronze plain
a long slit of seasilver
on a knocking train

She told me her father, at home
in the clutch of the soft furnishings,
said Miranda, I no longer
want to learn anymore
You led me past dark Tudor beams
the copper oxide spire
Almost azure, under a clock
which was edged with fire

I outlined the plan for a novel
on the tall block steps beside the library
She seemed impressed
then bid me goodbye
You took me back to the station
I bought a postcard
We reconvened in your room
I lowered my guard