Six minutes after you’d left for work this morning,
I crawled into the bathroom, wrapped in my duvet.
I could still feel the steam from the shower you’d just had.
I pressed myself up against the wall of heat as if it were your body,
and I was not afraid to touch it.
We have been dragging love around by its feet for a good few weeks,
not letting anyone see its bedraggled state in public.
Kissing in the right places: forehead, tip of the nose, mouth;
doorstep, bus-stop, tube. Are you kissing those old versions of me,
the ones you stored for when this day would come? I have saved
so many of your past selves. When I wipe your mouldy kisses
from my lips, they tap the front of my head, incessantly.