Accidents of note

I fell before your rotten smile,

Rich with lust and iced with guile.

You had me bruised, bare-arsed and small,

In thrall to that disease that you call love

In time we found a little space,

To play at home, where we saved face.

I couldn’t stand the kindnesses,

You let fall from your lips in lieu of love.

Now what an autumn noise we make -

Shedding clothes for history’s sake.

The hierogplyphs we shift between,

Are scrawled upon the ruins of our love.