she only shifts the first time
as city whispers claw through your sheets
piece together your delinquent memories
and watch through a window the
leopard print lady drowning weeds in
a bucket
find patterns where they believe to be
and flick a casual glance at the half
past seven last seen glaring through a
dark half day ago
she wavers before rolling gentle warmth
over you and you seep back into
each other’s haziness
her smile breaks through brighter than
the cracked curtain
a heavy breath, a deep push and she’s
off left groaning to your own lesser
mattresses you reach to catch her
and pull her back for one more last time
.
