Fizz and Lost Love.

She liked the jazz

on her hi-fi.

She sipped her gin

thinking of him

tried not to think

about him, but

he came through

into her mind,

easing himself

into her thoughts

as the Jazz played.

Between fingers

a cigarette 

was held loosely.

They'd broken up

after the row;

and what a row:

lots of things said

things best hidden

but angrily 

had been spat out. 

The Jazz calmed her,

especially 

the guitar player,

how he cooly

plucked at those strings.

She sipped more gin,

inhaled some smoke.

Joe was an arse, 

but they loved once,

seemed just the thing,

gave life that zing.

Now he had gone

and she alone

and the big bed

all to herself

and that wide space

to remind her

of that love time,

that cuddling

and kissing time,

that making love,

now all just gone,

leaving a taste

of things gone wrong.