[open-ended]

this is what i never saw coming.

seven months after you asked me to say

sorry — i am lying awake

looking at photographs of you

and feeling all the love rise up inside me

again, as though it never slept.

when are you coming home.

i am using the kitchen curtains as

kindling so when you open the gate,

you can see me slow dancing

alone beside the microwave.

kiss me. tell me you were wrong

and that you'll always love me.

why is it always my hands painted

red like the town, flowering

with guilt and skidding on freeways.

how much can i depend on you

before you know it.

if stars were girls you'd be the sun,

and if you were here

i would never stop kissing you.

your rose-lips. hair like salt waves.

am i nothing else but heart

when you are with me.

but the house is empty, so

i am standing here in silence

and praying for absolution.

god help me i am not a romantic.

i've fucked for rent

and paid my father's debts

with this body, and your body —

you should know this:

your body could take your place.

sometimes i look out at the harbour

and we are lying in the wet sand,

still making empty promises.

(and i think i will always be one

to leave goodbyes open-ended.)