Francis Poulenc

I love you Frankie standing in the corner of the party
dividing time into so many shivers. When you doodled those tunes

for the Flute Sonata or the Wind Sextet, did they make your shiny hair
stand to attention? As for me, I’m a radio — you turn me on

and hear your favourites. Coming through snow to meet you 
in dark places like this, the smell of damp strikes me,

unprepared as your modulations — in music, yes, but also in mood, 
as when suddenly we kissed, and made love, and children, too. Don’t ask how:

I’m still in that room where we met, silent as I was when a child.
I bring flowers to your grave, and a bottle of gin, and music!

and thus we laugh and dance the nights away. Ah, to be known
in this life and the next — O you! are the best of all my boyfriends.