365 Poems/203 Breakup (Rough First Draft)


I want to head North

where water is bloodied

for all the right reasons.


You talk about me

chasing wilderness,

and never being satisfied,

before turning the TV

louder and swallowing

a pint dry .


You don’t look at me

when we fuck, but scratch

your name between my

shoulder blades.


I know you wish I was

brilliantly hesitant, but I desire

to sleep surrounded by ice.


You are perfectly happy with

central heating, white sheets,

showers where you dictate

the temperature.


I leave, when you are comatose

on the sofa in front of the

electric fire and TV.


Outside, frost works its way

between my knuckles,

and under fresh snow,

I bury the ring that turned

my finger green.