I remember that grey, battered thing
the wool tight and clean,
screaming out in bright June sun
dense, thick and heavy.

That cardigan hung so limp
when I ran and hid.
Chuckling in my corner
it crumpled on the floor.

Strolling from the bed,
my body gently shrouded.
Held in perfect comfort
of floppy, old, lose wool.

Black as hell against this white canyon.
She’s waiting for me.
Still there.
In amongst soap and shampoo
Still.
Armed with traps and tangles;
I shall not succumb.
I shall set her free.

It is she who’s trapped not me and she doesn’t even know it.
I can take her from this barren abyss.  Her attempts are futile.
Richness awaits her,
more than just the dripping tap.

So
I stand naked.
My belly brushes against harsh coldness,
a glass and photograph in hand and I shiver from the open window.
I am bending forward.
My skin pricked tight,
I am not a coward,
I have her. She put up no fight.  

Covering all my family.
So close to her black belly we’re smiling in summer heat,
wearing baseball caps and dungarees.
I tilt the glass, I caught her leg.
Lingering we stare at each other.
Her hairy black, my fleshy pink;
like a sweet.

I could have killed her.

Out of the window she falls.
It’s dark.  I’m sure she’s fine.
All that’s left behind
is the fine web.
Hung from shower head to plug.

There’s plenty of flesh on her finger,
sagging, loose, folded ,
crumpled at the knuckle.

The nail is peach, white at the tip
manicured, manufactured; plastic.

She reaches out towards a musty key.
The greyish, flesh-coloured cube
awaits her touch.

She withdraws from her ******,
her finger folds away with the rest.

Reassured, she begins again.
Her fat stub hovering
over the scrabble of letters

With a satisfied click
the key flattens into the board.

I remember that grey battered thing
when the wool was tight and clean,
chosen just for her I thought and laughed
outright.

That cardigan was screaming out
in the early bright June sun,
and I threw back my head laughing
as I balanced along a wall.

I didn’t see it again ‘til Easter
of the following year.
Loosely hanging in a darkened café,
on the back of a broken chair.

That cardigan hung so limp
when I ran and hid.
Chuckling in my corner
as it crumpled on the floor.

Strolling from the bed,
my body gently shrouded.
Held in perfect comfort
of floppy, old, loose wool.

I’m sitting with my feet upon the taps,
your naked body slightly squashed behind.
I take down my hair, upon my shoulders feel it fall,
closely followed by your damp hand.
The air thick with watery smoke
and scratching at the door is your **** cat.

I’m sure she thinks she’s your mistress, your cat
and as we soak together her claws tap
out in the hall. I think if the place went up in smoke
she’d take her chance to save you, leaving me behind.
I’ve tried building bridges, putting down my hand
but she just sniffs and twitches, even her tail falls.

You climb out of the bath and the water level falls.
Open the door and in seconds you **** cat
is twisting around your legs. You’re reaching out your hand
she kisses you with her wet nose. Now you tap
away downstairs, she hurries on behind,
desperate for you; an addict desperate for smoke.

I find you in the garden, having a smoke
and all around you blossom falls.
Silent apart from our breathing, then, from behind,
I knew we couldn’t be rid of her, your **** cat
appears, whining! In the breeze her cat-flap taps,
she jumps up knocking the cigarette from your hand.

I place a new cigarette in your hand
and give myself one too. We smoke
together in the darkness and tap
the ends making tiny snowflakes fall.
Still we’re plagued by your **** cat
as she impatiently circles behind.

We climb the stairs with her following behind
and you laugh and lightly take my hand,
which seems to aggravate the cat.
The bedroom smells of stale smoke,
onto the mattress we fall
and in the breeze the blind taps.

As we fall asleep I feel your body behind.
I reach back my hand but instead of you it taps
something soft as smoke; between us is your **** cat.

Splash and slosh to be sipped.
Red as blood and just as thick,
it swills in the glass.
Glugging at the bottle neck,
smelling sour sweet of summer fruit gone stagnant.

Let lose between your lips
Roll its redness round your tongue.
Rough as tobacco, or black coffee
smouldering in your throat,
like coal or soot.

And fill yourself up! Pour
into yourself this other blood;
more and more.
Until your eyes are heavy
and deathly sadness flows.

We’re reeling, thundering, flying.
We’re racing down the hill.
We’re sweeping along the pavement.
I will carry you; I’ll take you where ever you want.

We’re wobbling, swaying, tilting.
We’re blown and knocked; uneasy.
We’re pushing into the wind.
I’ll try to be steady; try my hardest to never let you fall.

We’re bumping, pounding, jolting.
We’re kicking up leaves.
We’re skidding along the track.
I’ll weave between every tree, don’t worry, my love.

We’re gliding, sprinting, whizzing.
We’re brushing by the hedge.
We’re crunching along the stones.
I shall trundle with you, gently down the towpath.

We’re moseying, wandering, meandering.
We’re stopping, choosing some lunch.
We’re pacing through the lanes.  
I’ll wait when you’re gone, wait to take you home.