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.