In an hour there will be a knock on my door and I will hold your mother’s hand —
I ask her about the dinner. She says she is not hungry.
He says I am beautiful. So shall we find a room?
I swear by the saints — that I will tell her when the time is right.
‘You really should talk to him.’
My sweet — these nights in Abydos have been long and difficult.
Love can be a plastic bag or a chocolate wrapper or a sweaty hand.
They say I must die.
King Agamemnon offends the goddess Artemis on his way to…
it bores into you with a single murky eye. But you do not see.
But where are you ? — I ought to be with you.