Pretty Pink City
Sometimes in the middle of the night
You got up
And lowered your body
To a small hum at the edge of our bed.
Deftly your fingers moved then.
Into the light.
And the dial turned,
And the room got quiet.
Later we wandered around the city,
Its skin like salmon, pink and sticky,
Sore scales touching my underbite.
In the Church,
You kissed me cheeky, called it a sin;
I asked you if we’d ever have a bigger fridge,
One that slept in a different room to us.
Outside, we called our mothers and cried
From the park bench.
I remember the wood bending like a ‘u’ and
How are words shortened too;
Speaking only the ‘l’avenir’,
Knowing nothing about the things to come.
