Thief

I have stolen something from you.

A precious thing 

you prayed you would never lose.

You do not know that it is gone.

You think you are still in possession,

like your mother’s sapphire engagement ring,

hidden in the back of your knicker drawer.

For now I envy you.

You trust him, he is there,

scraping his knife and fork

along the patterns of your wedding-gift plates,

sponging the body of your car, 

holding the seat of an unsteady bike.

His warm body in your bed.

Whereas I, standing at the window,

watching him shrug on his coat

as he walks away,

all I have of him

is a line of cloudy semen

running down my leg.