She undresses by the lamplight.

He sits immobile in a chair wishing

he had a cigarette. Her bra is too

tight & leaves red marks across her

back & underneath her breasts when

she takes it off. She turns her back

to him as she slips out of her knickers,

bending slightly with one knee, one

pale alabaster arse cheek ringed by

shadow. He is a sailor all at sea.

She is a ship within a bottle.

In time you’ll forget the shadows on the

wall, the bedside lamp tilted just so, her

alabaster skin & smell of freshly baked

bread. One day you’ll ask yourself how you

put up with her telling you her dreams every

morning filled with friends you never knew;

how you allowed her to pause films in the

middle of a scene & ask you questions you

could never know the answers to. Sometime

soon you’ll be able to try & picture her smile

& come up short. In time you’ll leave the clocks

behind, the tattoo’s on her arm will fade,

& when you listen to the waves they’ll tell you

only what you truly need to hear.