My pages burn in an iron plate
on the wooden table
in our September hotel.
Carpet’s soaked with beer that we spilled
and I couldn’t care less about the mess.
And you spoil me, dear –
Breakfast in bed but we’ve got nothing
The smell of smoke is still in my hair
since last night’s dirty deeds,
and I don’t know what’s coming next.
I told you to wake me up
when it was over.
But it was never over
we just grew older.
We had wine when we dined,
we were classy refugees.
Your chest sheltered my cold legs
as I wrapped them around
we could be.
And I sheltered you from the outside world
because I knew it was hurting you so.
Then we lay on the floor, low
and we went with that old familiar flow.
And in the morning I knew what I had to do,
you were leaving and I couldn’t cope.
My place was here and I opened up a beer
just to throw it at the wall
looking for hope.
So it spilled on the carpet,
you came to me in a blanket.
I asked you to take my breath
and wrap it around my neck,
perhaps I need a sanity check.
And you did it, we were both into deep,
when it was finally over we couldn’t sleep.
I pulled myself out of the sheets
and left the room
and left you the keys.