a year of nights in this room
music like blood pumping in our ears
passing the joint in ever smaller circles
staying to talk the sun up

and now
the usual goodnight hug
stretching on like a motorway
the shock of your mouth
moving towards me
the beautiful clink
of teeth on teeth.

In the middle of it

As it turns out, you don't love me.
I ask six men to put their cocks
inside me. After the sixth
I can still remember the colour
of my pale-pink skin against yours
It is too late, too late.
I tie my hair around your wrists:
you drag me round behind you.

The never-ending of it

After all this time
you walk into my dream
like you own it.

I'm not surprised
that your eyes
swerve away
when you see me.

But then later on
as I stand in a field
watching cows
your arms
are suddenly around me.
You see, I still
can't believe
you don't want me.