Walking out I know
this is not the end of the matter,
I will be hearing from my conscience shortly;
that over padded plain navy sofa.
Still, the walk home's thrilling,
the moon all anglepoised, gets me, dancing.
I'm a twenties nobody,
a toe tapping
sequin snatching nightmare,
let me in to your houses!
I am here to hurt those of you who leave the ante door unlocked.
Arms full with slippers and milk
I creep and whisper 'your sensitivity,'
I hope you hear me.
