If you don’t remember
How we loved and kissed,
Since obviously you were out of your mind,
I will tell you—and if there’s any hatred or sadness I’ve missed
You can tell me later, if you are still feeling unkind.

My poetry always knew what I loved and whom I loved
And when I wrote my poems to you,
That was the first act of love, remember?
That was how you and I knew,
If that helps you to remember.

The red envelope
With the poem within
Was the start of a love
That ended in sin.

If there is one kind of sin I wish to remember,
It is the one that travels in mist and wind,
And blows lovers about.
The first time you let me kiss your lips
There was never any doubt.

I had to kiss you again and again,
Whether the weather was cold, or dry, or wet.
You had a face, and a chin, and breasts
Which I cannot forget.

But if you cannot remember,
I’ll tell you what I’ll do.
I’ll remember for both of us.
My mind, to live, will divide in two,
As that shady garden grew, when the lovers went
Into the garden’s shadows, and love seemed to end,
And even sorrow seemed to be spent.




  1. noochinator said,

    January 29, 2016 at 11:38 pm


    The red envelope
    With the DVD attaching
    Was the start of a love
    That ended in binge-watching.

    • thomasbrady said,

      January 30, 2016 at 1:56 pm

      Ha you’ve given me an idea for another obsessive love poem…

      I’m binge-watching you

      That’s the first line, and then it practically writes itself.

      Seven weeks of Mad Men.
      In my mind I watch you again and again.
      After DVDs are obsolete and all the actors have died,
      I watch you still…ten years ago now, when you cried…

      • noochinator said,

        January 30, 2016 at 5:01 pm

        Make that, “Seven seasons of Mad Men”….

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