I remember the night I met you.
It was October-chill not January-cold
and I was in my
The one where the elastic had started
to breakout of the fabric
and my scuffed Dr. Martens too.
My hair was dark then
long and curly too.
I wore more make-up then than I do now.
It was 4am on a Tuesday
and I had work the next morning
as I always did
but that didn’t matter ’cause
you needed a cigarette.
That was the first lie you told me
and it was only 3 years later I found out that
the whole time
you had a half-empty packet of Marlboro lights,
in the pocket of your dirtied jeans,
the whole time.