Looking back, it seemed to happen
underwater. The shoes were smaller,
the hands quite white, the voices came back
in bubbles like raspberries: I do, I do.

Did I? Did we somewhere make those lists,
pick a tie to match your bouquet (eau de nil
not jade; we go through every shade of green),
smile for a mantlepiece across swimming rooms,

buy curtain rings and tin openers,
make love in front of a silent tv (our bodies
striped in watery light) and realise at night
that the breathing goes on forever –

each exhalation like a wave?  Water
on our chests in a grey and green column
as far as we could see. So we swam
to the surface, clambered onto the mantlepiece,

then watched the furniture float slowly away.