Last Night

 Flat-tyred
 to match my insides
 I cycle
 stuttering along cobbled streets, smoothed by wind
 and tyres filled with more air than mine,
 shoe-shined by late summer rain.
 I breathe in;
 holding the night before close
 to my skin, tickling belly-hairs
 under the loose-string cardigan
 you so coveted in photographs
 that I have thrown on
 thrown over
 to cover my embarrassment.
 Face tired and long
 from all night trying;
 smile woolly at the edges
 unravelling
 where it meets my cheeks
 I think about you.
 With each turn of my wheels
 shoes sticky from something
 and stuck on my pedals
 it jiggles above my ribs,
 gets caught in my throat
 that high-ceilinged room
 me, coat on and waiting
 for an answer
 and you standing there saying
 something, saying
 nothing at all;
 all your charms gone and
 you're suddenly, surprisingly small:
 all height lost to the walls.
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