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Token Lives

We talk for an hour,
My bare feet curling
As I tuck another layer,
Spread the creaminess
Of years, textured,
The left over wine
Staining everything
In a tinge, a resin.

Do you still love me?
Break crusts in the soup,
Leave a trail of crumbs
That a waiter sweeps away?

Too many heartaches,
Stories abbreviated,
I hear ice tingle
Like some weird
Christingle tale.

The children are grown,
Flown far away, a
Wife in the Azores
And a bore of a boyfriend,
Who picks his teeth
Between meals.

We talk for an hour,
I iron out creases,
Sign up, take out a lease.
You kiss and the line
Is unclear, I only hear
Static and some weird
Patter you learnt,
While drawing on napkins,
Those shredded petals
Lifted up, blown away.

I used to slam the receiver,
Now I just touch a button,
Creaminess becomes curdled,
In the hurdles of an
Over complicated life,
I wish we hadn't spoken,
I'm sick of token lives.

Poetry by Elle