staring deep

I get you

I really do

you are a poet

these things you write

speak deep into me

& that’s what a poet does

takes the world

narrows it down

puts all that

into words

& yours

I get

she was staring deep

right into my eyes

wanting me to believe

she would look after me

love me to my toes

already pouring the next drink

you could use the little room

there as your office

I’d be your agent

until we can get you one

& the world

lay there with her

all at my feet

still I walked away

maybe

it was when

she tried to scald me

kettle steaming

throwing bricks at my window

hurling herself

to the concrete

if I didn’t call

the times she wanted me to

jumping in front of the car

wanting to die

there in the firing line

of the talent

she later roundly abused

& the last ever time

staring deep into these eyes

as she lunged with the kitchen knife

I love you

I love you

I love what you write

now die you bastard!

aiming of course

for my heart

& failing to find

because

she told her girl friends

I didn’t have one

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