Dumb and explicit

With a bleary sigh, you rise from the bed
Hair unintentionally windswept, you raise your wuthering heights

The chilled wooden floor pre-empted
By the inviting womblike slippers
The staircase awaits you

The kettle filled
The mug cleaned and waiting
With expectant teabag

To the door, for the milk
On the doormat, (a woven thatch affair)
Lies a black cuboid of folded interflora cardboard
Two bottles of red-top
And the Herts Advertiser
But you are lactose and news intolerant this morning,

A single red rose
If only a poet was present
Your mind travelled like a narrative to Morocco

There, amidst a bustling market
Your sweetheart, heady with the aroma of travel
Pined for your beauty
As you hold it to your chest
Aching for his presence
Vases hadn’t crossed your mind,

* * * * *

He yawns and stretches, sleep in his eyes
And scans the ruffled zone
As she stirs, and tangles the bedclothes
A single string of beads circles her neck

Caught up with foreign bodies
He thinks of you sitting alone under the apple tree
A guilt rose
Say it with flowers


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