The Girl With No Name

Wish you’d been with me at the open window,
and that you hadn’t gone astray. We’d have
smoked rocks of crack by the open window,
waiting for the moon to come out to pray.

We could have spied on the neighbours from
the open window. Thrown weighted red gas bills
on passing cars, the open window a stereo
of traffic, off to Leeds, or maybe to Mars.

We would have kissed hard at the open
window, soothed the scorch marks fried to our
chins. We’d be framed in sepia at the open
window, planning a life in the rubbish bins.

We could have seen the dawn fly by the open
window, writhed on a mattress for the very
first time. Scraped the pipe at the open window,
confess our sins, our heinous crime.

But you fell from your own open window,
whilst I fell into recovery. These days I
close the curtains of the heart, the
open window to the drudgery.