rain on the tin roof
August 16, 2013
Rain on the tin roof. Rain on the tent canvas. Rain falling. Like a drunk staggering home to the woman he loves a little bit more after several drinks.
Watching television. House. You turned to me. Do you still love me. I don’t even know how to answer the question. Do I still love my arm. Or my skin. I think the cat wants in.
The fire has gone. Partly due to the medication. Partly due to my boredom. Partly due to that empty bottle rolling across the floor. And yes its partly due to you.
I’m beginning to lose my keys. I’m beginning to forget if I turned off the stove. I’m beginning to forget the names of the kids. But I’ll never forget you. Standing on that frozen corner. Selling jewellery to the freaks of nature. My last thought, I’m sure, is of you turning to answer me