Room
Was it the thigh-high boots
tossed to one side
the two glasses in the sink
with two plates
and endless serving
bowls, platters, jugs and trays
that so unsettled me?
Or the feeble linen curtain
half-drawn against the day
which persisted regardless
lingering over
unanswered mail
photographs of parents
spilling from a weary green envelope?
I buried my face in feathers
plucked from Russian swans
my feet on the radiator
I slept in your bed
like some exotic fruit
being pushed to flower
First published: Velvet Heat, Edited by Scott McMorrow, Pretty Things Press, 2005