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