I’m crying at green wallpaper
sick with the memory of your hands.
When you died, though I’d asked you not to,
I got some rest. Fair play. I ate my eggs
and the sun came out. How do you enjoy a fuck
when you’re sunburnt with grief?
I had hoped for a loss of appetite,
some silver lining. I live in a flat
that I can’t afford. It’s got big windows.
They get so dirty. I don’t condition my hair.
You’d be disappointed at how often
I let myself go.
I’ve got your name tattooed on my finger,
but it keeps falling off
when I do the washing up.
I’ve kept that cat you poured your tenderness into.
I don’t remember kissing you
but that doesn’t mean it didn’t happen.
Some days it’s someone else’s brother.
You serve me in a coffee shop.
You’re on the mend,
pierced ears and a soft hat.