The museum was closing so we ran
down the stairs, through the galleries,
past the guards
to see her one last time.

Her face illuminated by
the pearl at her ear
dripping with light
the silence glowed between us.

I let go of your hand-
“don’t touch me.”
I want this to be mine.

We walked to a park to drink
the gin you bought at the train station,
you watched me picking the seeds
from the lemons with a knife.

You said the moon was her
face turned out to look at someone
over her shoulder.