sea has shaped it
opened it wide –
the ear of Venus
pressed together
like French chalk
on the sea bed
they tell us not
to take them home
but I hide it
immaculately
salt has smoothed it
painted it blush –
ever so slightly
pinker inside and
almost heavy
like a final word
When it gets late, we watch Cops on TV,
once all the rest have made their way to bed.
Then you make cheese on toast, and I make tea –
we feel inclined to sit up late, instead –
and though our conversation is quite plain,
you’ll show me something funny on your phone,
and when we laugh our ribs vibrate with pain,
as though at something we should have outgrown.
At three or four o’clock we start to shrink;
my tired mind begins to wonder whether
you’ll think about us sitting here, in sync,
when you and I no longer live together.
For me, it’s that I’ll miss, though it seems trite –
when we watch Cops together late at night.
