It’s not the moment, it’s after the moment and I see myself lying on the bed in orange light with you lying across my lap, your mouth still sucking in your sleep. I’m also asleep even though I have tried, I know I have tried not to, I know how important it is, and I see myself waking, checking my phone and realising it has been at least two hours, no more, many, many more hours of just lying there …

I rarely write things this real, was planning on writing nothing but poetry in Texas, but when someone tells you a story and your first and enduring thought is, Iggy Pop needs to hear this, what else can you do?