Itching

I remember
Most things,
Such as
When it didn't matter
If my legs were waxed,
Or my armpits shaved,
You would love me anyway.
I remember
Being able to eat cream cakes,
Without
You saying 'straight to the hips'.
And laying in bed
With no snide remarks, like
'why aren't you up yet?'
Back then
You would join me, and
We'd fuck and sleep all day,
Like naughty teens.
I remember you
Spinning me round
For deep, bruising kisses,
While I washed pots or ironed,
Instead of being in separate rooms.
I remember
You always held my hand, and
Squeezed my bum,
Or breast as we walked together,
Instead
Of four feet apart as we do now.
I remember, vividly
Our need to be close,
Watching t.v,
From the same sofa and
Eating ice-cream ,
From the same spoon.
Now you hate the programmes
I love, and
Never share.
I remember all of these things,
As if they were yesterday,
But mostly
I remember
Being warned about
The seven year itch.