late on a saturday evening.

you called me
late
on a saturday evening

out of the
blue.

you’d caught me
unawares;
i hadn’t been expecting
you.

to hear you speak
was like
unearthing roman coinage
in my back yard.

so precious
amongst the ordinary
amongst the fabric
of my own life

for it to stroll back
in, swaggering slightly
knocked me for
six.

this “thing” we had
was made of bricks
once
but now
it’s just a pane of glass.

you never told me what
you wanted to ask.

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