KC

We met at Christmas, liked each other, snogged
A bit and dated—every weekend down The Plough;
The time we spent together somewhat fogged
Except New Year—still vivid even now

An intimate and homely Hogmanay;
Glenlivet, wine and cans, Scottish flatmate,
His girl and someone else called Ray.
We’d never ‘done it’, and in no fit state

Or wanting to, (I didn’t then), but still
We sought a private cuddle on his bed
And staggered in. I suddenly felt ill;
He fetched a bucket, placed it by my head

And there we stayed all night, the two of us.
Come morning, mouth like balsa wood, I got up
To greet the Scot, who winked and made a fuss
Implying stuff. I rinsed a tea stained cup

And slaked my thirst, too weary to retort.
KC was listening too but never said
A word. I grabbed my coat to start the walk
Back home to waiting parents, seeing red

We never did it. It was plain to see
We’d fail and two months later he became my ex
I wonder if he still remembers me?
The one that heaved all New Year’s Eve instead of having sex

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