and I was distressed when
i heard
she wasn't really keen on fiords
so i took off at haze and even forgot
to take the merlot i asked her for
before retreating nakedly - to the woods
luckily
andrew was there with some pills
and good scotch and his gloves
oh who cares for merlot now
yet i avoided returning his attempt
at handshake
since i always
thought of his garden poetry
as an excuse for
outdoor self-satisfaction
and the gloves certainly do not prove me
otherwise
oh! the fiords
in what heavy grace you move
like the bear
i left back in the apartment