The Room

It was a dark
turquoise room and
narrow, the

walls a swirling mass of
shape and colour -
hideous contortions in

blue.

It smelled dingy and the
windows grime-encrusted gave
little light in. Your

equipment in haphazard
piles and tangle of
wires the most

important things, the
rest forgotten, clothes
askew in the open

wardrobe. You
in the kitchen
making tea, I lay

back to the door, was
mortified when someone
came in and spoke to

you, me, you in the
kitchen making
tea. I lay

silent, still
hoping he would
go away.  The door
                  
closed and I
never forgot the shame
of a stranger

discovering
my guilt inbred
despite our love.

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