Losing Eight Stone

Losing Eight Stone by Neil McCall

I used to like women with plenty of meat
though it wasn’t really meat
which plumped your pillows
and cushioned my fall
when we christened our new bed
and broke it.

But now,
I trace the dragonbone ridges
of your new-found spine,
lick from the sunlit cups
between neck and shoulder blade
and watch a strange fire
smouldering in your eyes.