markbousfield

My bed is too narrow.

I chased you on the tails of an ambulance,
a macabre dream furrowed in chance,
petulance,
reticence.

I swaddled you in the hot Summers' down,
each curling fibre a perfume of sound.
our kisses on the cusp of love's sweet brevity,
sharing Winter's chill, it's a good job I thought on to bring some tea!

So sincere we were
as I clip your toenails from my feet,
every particle of your affection I believed I could breathe.

Alas...

...there was the pretty face of a monster
I should have gotten to know,
so delicate you were,
like a flower walking proud in our ever growing cold.

A regret that will scar me like a sonnet too tired to swoon.