Among the things you left me was your DJ: fits me perfectly.
I like to wear it of an evening, trousers, shirt, the lot.
It makes me feel you’re there encircling me, hands stroking
my breasts, rubbing the nipples; your genitals and mine as one,
except they’re not. This is how much I miss you, ash to ashes
strewn on water. Hands in pockets, standing as you might
have stood, I finger flesh through finely woven wool.
But whose? Wearing the clothes you squired me in, I feel
ambiguously sexy, certainly not androgynous,
total man in primal woman, you fucking me fucking you.