Kabba (Black stone)

You told the story,in the dying light of a spring eveninghow she was so so hot for you, you’dleft marks on the back seats of carslocked each other for hoursin anonymous hotel rooms.“Doing it” was what you did togetherin bars, under escalators:I wide eyed listening to the historyof your lack lustre couplingssaw her waiting behind net curtains,Nintendo -ing her childrensending her husband on endless errandsto 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 kneeas you tried to light a spark in me,begging for heavenly intervention.You were dark, so darksometimes the light played tricksyou disappeared,I had to look closely tofind your eyes,and the gentlenessof your presence seemed to denyyour bestial behaviour.You were a symptom of my weekthis crazy city monsooning itselfin the first glow of April sunshine.Obsession hid behind everyone’s smilesI’d trawled conspiracy theory over latte,listened to megalomania in cocktail barsnow your addiction wasn’t looking prettyonly a doubling of fake symptoms couldleave me breathing clean night air.