small poems

I would like to smell of oranges


Bright and fresh
Clean and clinging
A reminder of sunnier places.

*

I am always wary
Of addressing my poems to you;
A conversation
Is a dangerous thing.

*

I have a chain
Underneath my bed
One metre of real, cold steel.
It is heavy and safe and solid.
I hold it sometimes
To remind myself to stay here.

*

To all the forgotten initials
Marked on my bedpost:
I am sorry.

We used each other
Not cruelly –
But bad enough.

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