My Not My Girlfriend

I don't have any photos
of the two of us together.
She was notoriously camera-shy.
Like Crazy Horse, the famous Oglala warrior,
she had a fear that the white man's Kodak
might somehow steal away her soul.
She would make hot pots of leaf tea
whilst I played Nintendo with her son.
It was her who first turned me on to Carver.
She had the complete back catalogue;
hung out to dry on various radiators around her flat.
A consequence of a penchant for
falling asleep whilst reading in the bath of an evening.
She had a truly great laugh.
An honest laugh that came from deep within.
A deep within and honest laugh that used to make me smile.
Sometimes she would laugh so hard
that she'd kind of blackout for a nano-second or two.
This was later diagnosed as symptomatic
of a chronic neurological disorder
caused by the brain's inability
to regulate sleep-wake cycles normally.
She had to give up driving as a result.
She was considered a potential danger to herself and others.
One of my fondest memories
of our time together
is the time we sat naked in bed one morning
on a mattress on the floor
instead of going to a lecture
and watched a John Ford Western on an old portable TV.
I remember she wrote a poem about me,
which talked of the connection between
oral sex and grey matter.
I vowed to one day write something for her in return.
I guess that's what this is.
Sorry it's taken me so long.