“I bought a bed”, I said.
“It’s huge”, you said.
As we fell upon its newness, consumed.
But it was far too small for
The length
And breadth
Of our desire.

That first morning,
Waking
In our new blue bed,
We were impressed
And snatched at precious sleepy seconds
Usually wasted in breakfast babble
And rush to work conscience.

In time, the central space
So often filled by our tangled beauty
Became a desert
A no mans land of empty waste
A cold dark place where only hands
Occasionally strayed,
Soon pushed away and silenced.

The bed grew wider
As our love grew thin
We lay, facing away
I to the wall
You to the fire
Clinging leanly to our territory.

Were your eyes open then
As mine were?
I watched the wall
With its shadow shows
And secret truths.
I picked the wood-chips
From their paper caves
Until the patches made patterns
In the slow turning light.



Your breath was effortless
And typical,
Your spine,
A dangerous snake
That re-coiled to my touch.

I never saw your face in that bed
Only the curve of your back
With its frightening vertebrae
And shoulder blades so sharp
I felt I may be cut
If I, by chance, fell upon them.

In sleep, you touched me once
Your hand slipped across my breasts,
Warm and so animate
I fell into you then
And inhaled your scent
All summer mornings and exotic locations.
You awoke
And realising your error
Turned back to the fire, embarrassed.
I wanted to cry then,
But clenched my pride, tight
Between my teeth and returned to the patchy wall.