Beautiful curves
Like conjoined maltesers
She melted under your touch,
And you crunched away all her inner toughness
With each little nip at her neck.

It was hot and
She stuck to your fingers.
So you bathed together,
Hot and steamy
And then you melted too.

I have decided that I don't need this new thing

Called hope.

It's fine, pretty, petite, fiery friend, you may have

My hope.

Isn't he lovely? Please treat him well. I think I would have.

I hope I would have.

But we shall never know now, because you played your hand so well.

I can only hope you'll listen to my warning next time.

If there is a next time.

I hope there will be.

Because one day, I won't be quite so content with the memories of those

Who stripped me of hope.

I imagine that one time you told me about

When you came into my room and watched me sleeping.

You said it made you happy to know that I was there

And in that moment I wouldn't yell at you, or look at you like

You were a stranger to me.

I remember that night

That I dreamed all the dark things in the world were hovering over me

With sharp teeth and hungry eyes

And whose grabby, pushy, possessive hands

Would smother me at any second.

I need a window cracked ajar
So I can breathe
In submarines.

I need an umbrella
On sunny days
And sunscreen in storms
Just because I think they've got it wrong.
I always seem to tan in rain.

I need a little more laughter
When we're all dressed in black,
And at your wedding, in your tux,
I need you to find me for a little cry,

Just so things are normal.

And just so this funny old
Un-funny world makes sense.

I dreamt once that I danced with you.

Fox trot,
White dress,
Dim lit room.

I looked more like my grandmother than myself
But you just looked a better version of you.

No needle marks in sight.

You told me you liked us this way,
No fighting,
Everything clear, reality perfectly defined.

No confusion, nothing bad,

Just us, a gramophone, love,

And just when I don't need it most,

An alarm clock to wake me up.

And the sound is no dancing tune. It is

As harsh and loud
And crass
As the you who stirs beside me,

As unromantic as a broken record.

There's a bruise on my collarbone.
I waved it off as, um,

I'm clumsy?

But if I am I guess I just walked straight into your kiss.

My dress is clinging to the scent of your aftershave
And my cigarette,

But they're both secrets

So I've locked them away in the back of my mind, to keep them fresh.

And I've hidden the dress at the back of the wardrobe, just in case I forget.

I lie in bed at night,
And my hand rests in the dip between
My ribcage and my hip.

And if my fingers were larger,
And longer,
It could be your hand there.

In the morning, I crawl out of bed
And I fancy I'm your lioness,
Hair ruffled, stretching for the sun,
All gold, all lonely, while you play with others of my kind.