You told the story,
in the dying light of a spring evening
how she was so so hot for you, you’d
left marks on the back seats of cars
locked each other for hours
in anonymous hotel rooms.
“Doing it” was what you did together
in bars, under escalators:
I wide eyed listening to the history
of your lack lustre couplings
saw her waiting behind net curtains,
Nintendo -ing her children
sending her husband on endless errands
to make way for your waves.
I suggested it was love,
“in love with my dick more like”,
I drew back from my coca cola,
watching your hand pat my knee
as you tried to light a spark in me,
begging for heavenly intervention.
You were dark, so dark
sometimes the light played tricks
you disappeared,I had to look closely to
find your eyes,and the gentleness
of your presence seemed to deny
your bestial behaviour.
You were a symptom of my week
this crazy city monsooning itself
in the first glow of April sunshine.
Obsession hid behind everyone’s smiles
I’d trawled conspiracy theory over latte,
listened to megalomania in cocktail bars
now your addiction wasn’t looking pretty
only a doubling of fake symptoms could
leave me breathing clean night air.