Fin

 

Crushion

Stoven

Juggle

Juicen

Matted

Tdried

 

Crushed cushions on empty Fridays

stealing thoughts of you as tagliatelle tangles

on the stove, jug of dreg-ends downed in

juice-drip texts sent after

doormat stomps of domestic frustration,

tats of hair in the tumble-dryer,

settle down

repeat it now –

tried.

 

It was a something of a nothing, and

I tucked you in the edges

of the sheets

and the sandwiches

and took on traits

to titillate

you best –

failed.

 

You, a place I tried to access

are without regret, thinking me

not anything, temporary

here I was confused.

 

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