She left herself around London:
pondering on the rim of a coffee cup
longer than her lips did;
stubborn iron railings
still clinging to a piece of her green silk dress;
still weeping for the blossom that she stole
for her hair one day.
He scattered her around London
and she floated duskily down tube escalators
and she got beneath his nails,
and without noticing the murk
she took to the Thames
like fairy dust,
and they say he was in love
until the day that he died.