we folded laundry in the sun,
your stockings tangled and knotted
with my cheap lace bra (the one where
the underwire cuts into pinkflesh).
we drank red wine on the balcony,
nibbling on each other’s pasta and
laughing at the postman
who wandered down the street,
confused about the address he was
we wandered through the markets,
and I juggled lettuce and tomatos
to a round of laughing applause,
and you ooh’ed and ahh’ed
over dainty necklaces you could not pay for.
we drank tea together,
sitting quietly at the kitchen table,
breathing in steam and longing for the weekend,
counting heartbeats until we could escape for work.
you fell asleep alone,
and I drowned beneath the stark office lights
in paperwork and signatures and kisses
from the secretary in fishnet tights.
you made love to a stranger
on the couch downstairs, and I flicked
through the newspaper in bed upstairs,
and the moans that travelled to my ears
did naught to stir me, did naught to make me care.
you smiled a taut smile,
and I did not tell you about the cheap lipstick
on your bleached teeth, and I did not hold your hand,
and we did not fall asleep touching, and we waited for Monday.