Kristen de Kline #197 you tell me (1)

you tell me that you dreamt of

wrapping my body in designer sheets

in that hotel off Oxford Street, pure

linen and raining glitter,   still


you're marking my flesh

with a trail of stray threads


a sprinkling of the fifth spice

you can no longer recognise


... a splattering of fugitive kisses ...


you tell me that the hungry jukebox

gobbles up all our favourites:

constant cravings,

the April sun in Cuba

even the last mile home ...


you say you've had enough

of me life everything

you're ripping away

at the highest thread count

with a pair of secateurs


I can't bear it anymore, the

the rain     your absence

it's always hard

coming

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