You wake me with a squeezing
Of strawberry cut – one drop
On my left lid, one drop on my right –
And the tenderest kiss to my nose.
I open my strawberried eyes,
Expecting to find him in the room,
Lotus on the duvet, uncrossing;
Dissolving before I can make out his edges –
But he has not come. I have to
Do this on my own. I know he
Turns up when I am not looking
Out for him. There’s evidence.
My beard hair on his razor
In your bathroom cabinet.
His love bruise on your neck
That day in Grace Cathedral Park.
In his mouth, my brutal tongue,
Smarting after you have kissed and bitten it.