Poem 347

This room is imaginary, the conceptual space two people build between them and which when their time together is over falls into disrepair …

( I like unmade heart, body warmth as winged ants, the rhyme of shells/dull/fell and almost-rhyme of fallen/demolition … )

Love Nest

The bed like an unmade heart
misses us
                    its elephant folds 
going grey
                      boa constrictor coils of bedclothes 
with no one 
                        to crush together
like winged ants
our warmth long since 
laboured out of the sheets
and took to the air
                                     all the wildlife of love
haunting a parched 
watering hole

I thought you should know
the posters have fallen
the sea stones and shells are dry and dull
our clothes rotted where they fell
I've been in touch with memory & son
about the demolition
they say
                 they'll work their way round
                 to us