Memory is a hot, humid summer:
clammy, moist and damp. She does not.
I only lent you my heart – on loan,
like a library book you did
not read. Now I am out of print – the
pages cannot be found any-
where. Our chapter is closed. The leaves are
bound with beads from this August in
Tokyo. Tell me a tale of love and
lust and list my flaws in a co-
lumn as I have done of you. The cons
are more than the pros anyway –
you are out of print. You are closed to
me, to her and to them. Memory
is this soaring summer in Nihon.
(Tokyo, Japan – Friday 2 August 2013)