~

As I tidy, I organise time in little pill-pockets, sweep debris from sills and tables. I dice their cravings and fancies into some sort of meal, and wash nine hours of lines trod and toed from my clothes, ready for morning.  

These things make me feel needed, and I resent them as though they are chains. Do you draw me as selfish?

~

As I rest, I see my oldest cup with my keys; my coat and cleaned-boots left by the radiator gathering heat, and I wrap myself in a patchwork of dreams. I catch a wink - my favourite colours - beaded from the heartbreak-dark of a room.

These things make me feel loved, and I breathe them as though they are air.
Do you draw me as ungrateful?

~

As I watch, I turn my reflection this way, that way, pile ink-hair on her crown. I imagine my burgundy dress fall over her hips to the floor -  reveal to my mind the vanity of sheer-stockings and dark eyelash-lace on porcelain skin.    

These things make me feel beautiful, and I miss them as though they are dead.
Do you draw me as shallow?

~

What I want starts with an intake of shared air, a leaning-in.
My spine a star-gaze arch - a neat reflection of yours.

A mouth-to-mouth silence broken, made whole - by small language
born of not knowing, and of knowing too well.

I want to trace symmetry in your neck, your back: Learn the shape
and position of vertebrate, of the discs in between -

Infuse them with an energy to resist time, to resist
history’s repetitions.

I want my weighted thoughts to wash through the
base of my skull into your cradle-hand,

Want to hear the rush of them down your arm, their echo
through the in-and-out spaces of lungs.

I want them to pour fully formed from your feet to the floor
- through nerves un-frayed and strong.

Remember: It’s a want my Love, not a need.
What I need is you here.

... the fizz of a Bakelite switch casting
out dark in a storm - a hot scented bath and
the warm-dry robe I wear after...