365 Poems/78 A Night In January (Rough first draft)
A Night In January
I am hot with nerves,
like I’ve contracted a fever
in the ten minutes since
you let me inside your home.
I am alone with your world
while you put the kettle on.
I can hear your Dad chucking a bucket
of damp coal on the fire.
It crackles and pops as it settles.
When you come back,
your mouth is sticky and
tastes of golden syrup.
You go red, say you’ve had a
tablespoon straight from the tin.
Outside, it’s snowing. We try
to concentrate on the task
at hand. Your fingers are at my hips,
I have one hand lightly on your shoulder.
I want to increase the pressure.
But your curtains are open, and we
have a tendency to lose our concentration.
We flit back and forth to the window
to watch the snow and the changing light,
while the tea goes cold in the cups on the floor