Guilty, I admit it.
I'm reminded every time I remove my clip-on.
She taught me how to tie a bowtie.
I've long forgotten.
I don't wear my dinner jacket
as much as I used to,
when I was with her.
My fault. She sent me away,
and I didn't fight,
not hard enough.
My DJ is old and ill-fitting.
Too tight - I've expanded.
I hang it in the closet,
alongside my black trowsers, non-matching.
The right ones are still there,
waiting for the day I'm skinny again.
I feel young when I'm with her,
but she hates it because I've moved on.
The ruffled shirts were so seventies,
Now it's white linen,
creased because I'm not bothered to iron.
It's still me underneath it all,
there's more to love
albeit with less hair.
Some things never change.