At some point I am going to have to start writing again properly, but it’s been a long time. Anyway, here’s another of my old ones from the past 13 years or so (c) Becky Deans
We lay on the bed like cold cutlery,
Jumbled up, shiny with anger, not touching
You were all sharp edges, hurt feelings. I was cowered,
Like a spoon staring into itself, seeing a horror.
A fork with its prongs all bent, not even able to be sharp to itself.
You bit a serrated tooth of guilt into me. Tried to
Twist it. Like a knife through butter all the strength I had built up
Slipped away from me.