Stand where you can see me in this closing slice of light. I will show you myself, peeling cleanly from the ribs so you can see it, that fantastic pulsing violet, gulping over beating muscle like a waterlogged rose.the high heels in the kitchen, her slim spine arching with gorgeous laughter, red nails on white skin and the watch that told m you worked late.
Dead centre, a sharp split with your name on it.
And me, like your worn favourite jumper, too familiar in your arms, green as a spontaneous ring on the finger. How her hair feels on your neck, weightless. My rigid step from the doorframe, You lock her eyes and smile, a slow cool grin.gaze bitter as lime. Enough. Tonight I sit before my mirror, sewing needle to my temples, a tired queen amongst my empire of tissues. The ribbons of my mask unravel like a tear. I shall stitch my face with sunlight if she thinks she is the moon. Your shock, white as sick mushrooms. Lies, concertina lies, layers of words which would never speak but for the lipstick on the shirt sleeves andI snap open like a bone clam and wring a smile from my face.
Stand where you can see me in this closing slice of light. I will show you myself, peeling cleanly from the ribs so you can see it, that fantastic pulsing violet, gulping over beating muscle like a waterlogged rose.the high heels in the kitchen, her slim spine arching with gorgeous laughter, red nails on white skin and the watch that told m you worked late. 
