Email Poem

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Personal Note:

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Poem

Every step forward brings an 
energised momentum. Leading
me toward a portal which leads
me to the Styx ferryman

I am confronted with this resoundingly
unique shape, the emblem of its industry.
His coffin puts out its tentacle seeking my
name

Past aisles filled with 'fag-ash' Lils and lipstick
smothered whore's, I walk inexorably 
on. Past the row of walking stick,
benefits claiming, blue badge carrying,
hand-me-downs. 

And those 'mutter-under-the-Breath' blue 
veined brigade, always ready to Judge the 
dress you've chosen for such a solemn occasion. 
Well, today I didn't let them down!

When I get there, what I see is a pseudo-realistic
pantomime.  A Frieze of alibaster-marbeled 
features, a mask of barely recognisable
'What used to be'

I'm confused. Am I supposed to love
this empty form of you? Should I kiss 
your brow? And taste the loss of you 
on my lips.

 Or enter into a pact of believing  that 
you lie there, waiting to kiss me back.
What I want is to be  guaranteed  this 
will never happen to me again. 

I want to be able to give my love to 
someone and not have it thrown back 
when their 'use by date' has expired

I want the time, before time stopped,
to start again. I want the muscles in my
neck to become unknotted and my wine
bill to become averagely normal again.

Oh, and I want his wife to know I 
was the other woman

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