izzy

notice the way the guitarist’s feet
fold over each other,
hold each other

‘feelin’ good’ in a French accent
at an open mic under the stairs
trying not to care about the cold

looking stoic, seeing double, there are
matching mugs, new clothes
a spare towel and so
much
space
in this bed

a bent cigarette on the table
Robin is singing ‘somewhere over the rainbow’
and the walls drip
and someone sighs.

*

sarah

My lips are cracking at the corners
For want of your kisses.

*