someday i will
tell my children the story
of when i was cruel

omitting finer details
but recalling trips out
the R5 i never spoke about

it felt like cheating not
when i woke up with
her but when

i notched my finger carefully
into her lower spine
in the small secret place

i had only ever known
with you the soft
droning of my telephone

muted by the padding
of a discarded brassiere
which was not the right size

and how the ways in which
i can offer myself will
never be quite the same

i will talk instead
in vagueries about
mistakes and misspent youth

though truth be told
i always have spent it
exactly how i pleased

i will kiss them
goodnight go to
bed as a man

who seems a stranger
now and will be
moreso then