Bad Habits

Slurping on water
a mouthful of memories
a bubbling conscience
that I try to drown
in flashing images
on screen.

Someone once told me
that life is a sequence
of hotel rooms and I
wonder what I will leave
behind in here:

yesterday's to-do list,
a chunk of heart
or dirty underwear?

A rapid turn of events:
limbs shoot out of sleeves like they
knew this would happen. Violent
red across my cheeks: I forgot
to shave. I wrap myself
in your duvet until
credits start to roll and I think
if not now then when? You’re not bad
to look at and I don’t know you
well enough to judge your
personality.

Night turns into day and I’m naked
and afraid. A scented spray
a cover-up
and it occurs to me that
perfume is the destruction of
a thousand flowers, slaughtered and
stuffed into a pretty pink bottle.

I know you want me to leave but
if I do that I’ll feel cheap so
I lean across
and press play
when I really want to say:

I’m not very good at this, I’m sorry.