We sat in the park a packet of fags and
a bottle of wine, on the back of a napkin
I wrote her a poem of love.
While struggling to find the right words,
I hardly know her, she fell asleep, wine
of good quality can be strong.
I counted my cigarettes, had five left
but saw the light of a night bar, so I left
her there sleeping, went and had a drink.
When I came back she had left, my poem
written on the clean side of the napkin,
was on the ground torn to shreds.
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