The night comes late in early June
Reinforces my gloom of heart.
Time passes as I turn on the light
I sat here last week thinking of you
Sitting without reading, was a surprise for me
Who should I talk to? Now you are gone?
I could talk freely with you
Sit equably, while you read Sophocles’ Greek.
You were alone in that fucking house you hated
The idol of Greek friendship
Platonic and deep you never rebuked me
Reminded me of our sometimes perfumed, past pleasure …