I made you breakfast because
Last night, you called me ‘luv’
While laughing at the way I hung our clothes
(Still warm from us)
Behind my door.

It was the English in you, I admit,
But I was hoping that
If I left you something to remember
Like how I cared about
Even the fabric that caressed you before I did
Or how I like my breakfast
As I do my men,
English and in bed,
You would stick around
And say it again
Because the next time, it would be true.