Barbeque sauce
Smothered on his bacon,
Like my kisses on the
Stubble of his chin;
Crispy, charred.
Two tea-bags
Cuddled in his cup;
Crushed to copy the
Strength of our love;
Bitter, timeless.
One tea-bag
Huddled in waves waving
Goodbye, wishing for
You to return.
A bronze penny coined
Without your face,
Now I’m all out of luck;
Counterfeited, broke.
Gluten-free bread
Baked in numbers,
Four-hundred and eighty-nine
Days that would
Not roll around again
Ballooned in his mouth
Like the baby, I will
Never get to carry.
Two china plates
Divorced on the kitchen table;
Yours smooth and sweaty
Like your hands
Sealed to mine, swinging
In rashes of sunlight.
My half-eaten bacon sandwich
Slumped into a depression;
Raw, restless.
Two lovers
Ate for the last time
Without knowing,
Without even knowing.
I’m starved of your affection
That fed me until full.
My knife and fork are
Handles of a clock, ticking,
Telling me breakfast is
Over.
