too you

Lying in bed again I stare at the wall

Glance at the window, giggling

Selflessness right side up in my belly

Heaving with weight of

Spaghetti and scones.

Ireland has a funny way of fucking with your psyche.

And I can’t stop thinking of home

I can’t stop thinking of you, again,

You

With your silhouette

And your dirty hands and stiff fingers wrapped

Tapped

Zapped, zapping

My insides

Quick like a rabbit and swift like a knife

(I’ve run out of excuses for this one)