Even your silhouette was beautiful,
cast against a wall painted in your favourite moon.
I watched the ice cubes drip to flutes from full
and swallowed you’d be going soon.
Ignoring the swoon,
I edged in closer so that perfect mix
of security and fear I’d come to adore
teased my senses one final time, their tricks
suggesting you may have said more.
I drew short, before
ignoring the swoon.
See, reality I’m struggling to keep
apart from what I dream it is because somehow
I live another life when I’m asleep:
one where I’m with you years from now,
drawing straws by plough;
I drew short before.
Ignoring the swoon
is what I recall deciding was right
all those moons ago but it was too strong a play.
It’s dropped me dead with too much life tonight,
so I am pleading that you pray
lights take me away
to draw straws by plough-
I drew short before;
don’t ignore the swoon.