You split hands from cheeks,
cupped, like English tea in morning light
before a cool moan has swept over.

I laid my eyelids down, dropped lashes hard
to the floor, so the sound of breaking away
came from me, instead
of your heel-slaps
against stone.

My mutters ran along with the drowsy winds,
pushing my heart back inside,
where the polished worktops
and a neatly made bed left me with nothing to do
but glare at the dent
you left in my sofa
or in my bird-cage of a chest

and four days I remained there,
working my way into the wall cracks
as the air stood still --

no longer forcing my jagged pulse to hurdle me
in the other direction,
like when I thought I saw your face
pushed up close to the window.

I let the feeling settle into my skin,
pulling each vein out through the gaps of my ribcage,
throbbing as the image of your eyes aided the tug.
Strands were hooked around your finger-tips
stripping me away
vigorously,

until my arteries had no more love
to carry away from my heart
and spit out on the floor.