The bulk of the intelligent thoughts you spoke out loud ranged from how big you thought my bed was, to whether or not all the time I spent riding my mountain bike had toned my thighs.
I gave an indistinct, murmured answer and you went ahead and felt for yourself.
Not yet, you said, and pursed your lips.
Your friend had been impatient to leave all night, and you all did eventually, before the birds started to sing.
I was glad for sleep after that, and I did not dream of you.

Steely grins to the edge of the bed, from me to you. You seem to know this is not what I pictured; you flex, crease your brow and make a fist as you stretch. There's nothing you could make me believe.

A notice for the rest is being written on the back of a shop receipt; for food we've had to make do with bread and cheese, and nothing to drink (we never did get drunk together).
This is an easy kind of sadness. No speeches, no fanfare. Neither of us are dressed for that.

Today I crawled back to you on all fours, knocked hard until our old door gave way. In the dust sat the used furniture, turned upside down, and moth-eaten curtains that barely kept out the light.
You were there too, thick and portly now, having been feeding on the little things that used to eat through our wooden floors.
You did not know me. You hardly looked up when I called your name.
So, I closed the door and went back home.

Is it this, old miss, you've been looking for, past the fables from the start?
The gold, the grey and the stubbled fray, all but ruined by his heart.
Is it this, old miss, (just an inch too soon) that you've scored into your mind?
To replace the taste of old Jim's face, by now aged beyond recall.

This, practice this
To hoard my words
Hot against your chest, under the covers and not abandoned on an empty plate, scattered like peas
and left behind

Milk cartons filled with water, brown sugar on a banana. Leashes on kittens and bones for budgies. Fried toothpicks, salted opinions. Walks on a bannister, smiles at a funeral. Whispered threats, imitated promises. Love on a monday, no wine. Awake before 11, down after 12. Truth be told, clothes all sold.
Up up up, and out of town.