I’m not sorry.

I’ve tried writing in the light of Sappho.

I have tried to capture Eros in each syllable I have put to page in silken form

Honey, that just wasn’t us.

Our passion was rough and awkward;

I still have bruises on my breast from your grasps.

My number’s double digits, yours is little ol’ me

I won’t apologise for forgetting my moves

I was stunned by your virginity

My confidence went out the door when you strode in and embraced me .

My heart raced so fast I had to go for air, half praying you would chase me…

hold me in the cold, but sweetheart that isn’t you…

I stood there shaking in my doorway,

infatuated with my little spoon