is a Sore Subject
You always argued when I used to say
We were like the great lovers of the past.
That was just woolly thinking, you’d insist:
Each separate period of history
Was quite different from us in the way
They defined romance. So my exotic list –
Caesar and Cleopatra and the rest –
Had no relevance for the present day.
You left me. There’s not much I understand.
I stared for ages at our photographs;
They seem remote as long-ago events.
Your letters, now, seem hard to comprehend,
Indecipherable as hieroglyphs.
I’m no historian: none of this makes sense.