A secret something

You whispered sex things in my ear
took my hand
we both switched our phones off
then on again the next morning.
My bedroom walls echoed with the beep beep beeps
of people wondering where we were.

That day at work it was like nothing had happened
apart from an occasional glance and smile
and then you told me that next time you would make breakfast
because my bacon had been too crispy.

For the next month we spoke in this exciting secret language.
It was like the two of us had murdered someone;
I had accidentally tripped an electrician down the stairs
and now he was tied up in the boot of your car.
The only thing we knew for certain: we were in this together.

‘You do know this can't continue?’ you said,
‘because of all this.’
You gestured at the open plan office
but when I turned to look it seemed all our colleagues
had rearranged their chairs into the shape of a love heart.

Everyone else thinks they know you so well
but I have seen your iTunes
and we had shared those bacon sandwich mornings
where you told me things they will never know
that you love miniature railways,
your granddad drove steam trains and since he passed away
you've found yourself reading and rereading the books

he specifically requested were left to you in his will.
You and your now fully recovered brother go on trips to stations
of significance for railway enthusiasts
and when you told me these stories I wanted to consume you.
It was like going on Amazon to buy an entire seven season HBO box set
on the basis of a promising trailer.
Do you want this product gift wrapped?
More than you could ever possibly believe.

I am so glad we killed that electrician.
I hoped he'd be a martyr for our domestic bliss.
He is still in the boot.
Neither of us has the heart to dump his body in the river
dig a hole in the woods
because right now everything seems just right.