You think your legs are chunky,

that I'm a cheeky monkey

for wanting them wrapped round me night and day.

 

You never say Hail Marys

or thank God for the fairies,

your gait leaves me in awe of things

I'll never touch or hope to bring inside me,

or my house or home,

this thing leaves me sedate, alone

and thank fuck you are not insane,

at least I do not think so.

 

Your dress uncomplicated,

your presence where my fate is,

your hope is where despair lives,

in a soul that waits for meaning that's not there.

 

You ignore me in the daytime, 

and think there is no reason to make life more complicated than it is.

 

When we are dead and broken,

as we will be, as we are; 

time will close the curtains we were frightened to draw open.