Today is your birthday

Tim Clare you shiny, worthwhile man,
I stood in your bedroom in my boxing shorts
because I was looking for my trousers.
I saw your chest.
I saw your feet.
Your skin is the colour of spilt milk
and we had not made love,
we both knew this,
yet there was coyness
plus memory loss.
Maybe we held hands Tim, on the bathroom floor.
You are courageous,
I am flammable,
it was a good barrel,
and there was live music from 'The Gopher'.