In Lombok you drove a scooter over hot dusty roads,
wearing an old pair of jeans cut off at the knee.
The sun burned your forearms deep brown.
And behind you, there was I.
Clinging on for dear
love.
In Clermont you drive a scooter over cold black cobbles,
wearing tracksuit bottoms underneath your jeans.
The rain leaves you soaked to the skin.
And behind you, stacks of boxes.
Full of pizzas,
Getting cold.
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