It was nice

having you around, your head

spread on pillow, your body stretched

into the bed, the sound of early morning breathing

thundering in my ear.

 

Yes, it was simple

at first; my heart pounded neurones

my body swept with sweet surrender,

I became just what you were after

to keep you next to me.

 

Then my feet

began to falter along the street

that led to front door &I didn’t

recognise the stranger that you

seemed to be.

 

Yes it’s wild

being an artist: a collector with a bottle

to pickle damaged choices

& often bring them home

for tea

 

Here the hour

is getting brittle & my brain

is numbed with knowledge

I’m alone with insects buzzing,

I hear their voices churning.

 

Yes, it was nice

having you around, like

an iced cake on a Sunday but I

wouldn’t want  to make a habit,

of inviting you home for tea.