Incarceration

It’s cosy in your cell

wearing the holed jumper of my love

the familiar overcoat of my affection

consuming the tea and toast of sex.

But on the shelf are volumes of regret,

maps of unseen countries you long to visit.

Through the bars you watch the world go by

And there she is, releasing your soul with a passing smile.

I, the warden,

see the empty shell you have left behind,

Lifeless, soulless, dead.

You are not here.

You put on the new shiny suit of her love,

her blazing fashion statement of lust,

gorge yourself 

on the meringue and champagne of  copulation.

When the new garments get creased and worn,

the fashions change

she is sick with a surfeit of cream

vomiting champagne

You return to your comfortable clothes 

tea and toast, your prison.

You hate it but have nowhere else to go.

I watch you pacing, pacing, looking out for another passer by.

I wait in your cell, feeling your anger,

Darning holes, administering tea and toast.

I feel in my pocket for the keys to release 

And realise I have locked myself in.