Another Lover
I don’t long for love,
I find it meaningless.
Unless I’m sat on a bus with my eyes fighting consciousness
Or laying in a cold bed at night.
Only sometimes when I’m sat on a park bench do I long for the touch of another in my hand.
Or for someone to peer over my shoulder as I’m reading.
Painting my nails is tiring sometimes
And so is brushing my hair.
But what use do I have for another?
What use do I have for a lover?
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