We’d argue until the early hours of the morning.
I’d sit in the 6am rain with a cigarette and a glass of water, spitting blood onto your patio.
The neighbours must have become concerned
for the crying girl in her Calvin Klein’s.
I told my mum I’d fallen.
I told my friend it was ‘a funny story’.
Your forearm would pin my neck against the wall
whilst your tear-stained lips told me
how much you loved me, you’d die without me.
Your forearm would envelope my chest
in a furtive attempt at hiding my assets from prying eyes.
Your lips would brush my ear
People are looking, you would say
People are looking, put them away.
Why did I stay?
Four years later you asked to see me and you cried the entire time.
Thick, salted tears that stained my clothes.
You’d been a block of ice in my life for so long
but that day I breathed my summer sunshine on you
and you melted.
rewrite of my poem Naïve.