Oh come on,
let's get real.
Let's get a grip
on reality.
Ours is not
a relationship.
Ours is just
a domestic partnership.
No more than
a sleeping arrangement.
I sleep on the left side
of the bed,
you sleep on the right side.
I use the toilet downstairs,
you use the toilet upstairs.
I pay all the bills,
sometimes you take off
all your clothes.
We open a nice bottle of wine
only because its better
than drinking alone.
We go for a meal
at a nice restaurant,
only because its better
than dining alone.
We do not have a future
together.
And when you look back
not much of a past
either.
What could have been
our only connection,
laid amongst bloody clots,
in your gynaecologist's
petri dish.
