It is colder than it looks today.

In the morning

The pain of the night was recreated in sleep
that was deserved but hard to come by
after hours on my feet and four cans
of Red Bull. There was shagging at work
last night on the back stairs, and collecting
plastic glasses from the dancefloor
was as ever dicing with manhandling
from men not able to see the difference.
It is not a space that is hard to comprehend
but still it surprises me sometimes. Every step
I took was being replayed at 5am with every beat
of blood gushing vessels back to life
that had been forgotten in the rhythms
of Love Me Tender and Agadoo.

You slipped, though, gentle
from sleep and rubbed the life away back
into them with cooling hands, perched
at the end of the bed. Secret tears of mine
faded to sleep except for the crystals
now I wake. And my feet, oh my feet,
on pillows; your head on the bed.