That Winter with Celeste

I don't remember buying this espresso.
I don't remember last night's television.
I don't remember Troy
nor the first dynamo
nor the first use of ether in dentistry.
I don't remember coal
nor the skittish Tiger Moth
nor Romeo's cute little hard-on.
As well as all of which
I'm struggling to recall
that winter with Celeste
in her bed above the harbour,
the ships like chandeliers
parked beneath her window.