Richard II

That’s it. I’m yours till you say that I’m not.

Tiptoe on the ledge
and hope that in one direction I’ll fall into your lap
the other into your head

10 percent closer to us laying in bed
pink light on
sun sets red through my one window
reflected in the only building I can see

I bought 2 extra pillows
for us
so that when we fell asleep unknowingly, no time to intertwine and I woke in the night mildly irritated that you’re fine
I could have 2 pillows I could call mine

So you say you get drunk now
and all I can wonder is what you wear since you freak when things break
and your converse are white

I might ask my flatmate to cuddle me through the night

since now I have 4 pillows I call mine
and I’m mildly inconsolable knowing that you’re fine.