SLEEPYHEAD REBECCA BIRD

​

you press your cold feet 

          to the palm of my back 

& I hold them as my last pound coins

          & I warm them

& the liquor swells the floorboards

          the casters float the bed

you fold yourself in fever

          the paracetamol kissing you quietly

the duvet steaming you open

          & the hours leave us

for much younger women

          little dawn quickens like ash

faintly thinking of a phoenix

          how early the zombies will speak with us
& we tell them of our wanting.