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
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.