The one useful skill you took to London:
how to carve a pipe from an apple.
Got the first boy too stoned to know
how to seduce you: began
four years' sexual tension
instead. The last boy
you took to your
balcony
inhaled
deep,
held it
till smoke dipped
into streetlight,
illuminated
curled into a quiet
midnight Islington alley.
He would later come to write
he could never see the word 'Angel'
again without remembering that night.