Black and Blue
It doesn’t make sense that,
All I write is black and blue.
She has now peeled the apples that grew in the garden.
There are less smudges on pillows.
The walls have heard less.
And bounce none.
There have been many walks, and suppers, and journeys.
Whoever couldn't say
There are always bruises
In the beginning.
You are a mountaineer
With longer legs than mine
And I lost you when you went far ahead
Disappearing somewhere,
Like you do sometimes.
The kettle is boiling and
We clear up the plates, and glasses
and uneven cutlery.
A saucepan full of lunch tomorrow, is neatly stowed away.
You offer me a square of dark chocolate.
Our ritual now,
Before we discuss tomorrow; next month's bank holiday;
Easter.
Spent apart for other plans.
I drank some poison I think,
That you left out overnight,
To kill the mice that crawl around the house.
And my eyes go yellow and I couldn't see you.
You are tall enough to hide from, you see.
Don't wash it off
I like it when the I make pools on the carpet,
Next to tights torn off,
And knotted to one side.
I’m aware l’ve misplaced
Reason.
That I throw an orange at the wall.
That I’m heartbroken and you fix me all at once.