Bed

We played like children in our soft, old bed,
but now the spearing from a metal spring
hits me in the back.
Jutting out, into the small of my back,
where you once massaged me
before our love came undone.

Moving to avoid the spring
I feel you again,
touching, yes pushing my back with cool fingers.
I curl up beside you, on my side,
but the spring pokes through,
like a thick, silver needle.
I kiss your spine,
you permit me that, in the dark.
You realise I want more,
with my dreaded hand, claw-like, grabbing,
over your shoulder,
"Stop!" you call, "Stop!"
I turn over again, forgetting the spring,
and get a sharp reminder
of what pain can be.