China's Finest Gymnasts

.
Butterfly collectors
Wait with nets and bated breath,
To catch and keep the contents of my stomach.
I couldn’t tell you how they got there,
But their wings are cracking thunder,
China must be suffering by now.
.
And as you move in they move quicker,
Beating faster, clapping louder,
Until suddenly your mouth moves onto mine.
And like magic the gymnasts inside me fall silent,
And I cling to your lips
For dear life.
.

Traces/Foreign Bottles

There are pieces of you in the places you aren’t,
You can never be arsed
To pack up;
Necklaces, bracelets, underwear and stray hairs,
Lip stick marks on the rims
Of my cups.

Nothing lady like’s graced any part of my house
For what seems like
An ice age or so,
And now suddenly trinkets and traces of life
Have begun to look
strangely at home.

Foreign bottles take over the sides of my shower;
Scented ointments,
And sweet smelling creams,
Your toothpaste appears to be parked next to mine
In the glass
Marked with dirt, grime and steam,

And a set of your clothes somewhere under my bed
In an oversized,
Overnight sack,
Says it's safe to assume that you'll leave when you wake,
But it’s safe to presume
You’ll be back.