THE BODY TRILOGY.

1. HEAD.

I lay in the punt,
fingers in the water,
watching you propel us
down the river. When you were sure
no-one could see us,
you let go of the pole,
lay down on top of me.
We kissed. Your hair
got in the way. We didn't mind.

2. THORAX.

You undid your shirt in the rain.
Your wet, white bra clung to your breasts,
revealed a secret.
You took off my t-shirt,
wrote poetry on my chest,
corrected years of mistakes.

We took sharp breaths
in between bursts of thunder.
Your heart murmured.
I had an asthma attack.

We huddled, damp,
under the trees,
waited for the storm to pass.

3. ABDOMEN.

In a service station car park
we stayed up all night
telling each other stories
then went for breakfast
and left without paying,

left without filling your car.

When we ran out of petrol
you lay on the bonnet
while I went to find help.

I was jumped. A punch to my gut
floored me. My wallet, phone,
taken.

I made my way back
to find you and the car
gone. Exhausted,
I lay by the roadside.

At some point someone pulled in.
I was carried to their back seat,
given a flask of luke warm tea.

The driver didn't say anything
the whole way back to her house.
She was playing...
I can't remember now.
I want to say Fleetwood Mac,
but I don't think that's right.

She ran me a hot bath,
fed me Shepherd's Pie,
we watched 'Any Human Heart.'
She cleaned my teeth,
put me in a child's bed,
gave me a hot water bottle,
sang lullabies til I fell asleep.

I woke up in hospital.
You were holding my hand.

You weren't holding my hand.