RSVP

Thank you for the invitation but 
can I please decline? I must drag 
my couch into the crippled fridge
and weep through another night.
There is a shelf suitably 
miserable, where every thought 
of her thuds to the ground with 
the hushed squeak of a dying
egg. Leave the sun switched off please. 
Order me a takeaway eclipse from 
the kebab shop down the road. 
I will lie here curled into a centipede on
the frosted floor next to a half-eaten 
apple she left mummified in layers 
of cling film. Let me stare at 
the silhouette of her mouth 
while you enjoy your caviar. 
Memories come with a best
before date on the label and
her good night kiss will be stale 
tomorrow.