I’m dreaming of your lips again,
it’s saffron spring and I’m longing for love,
In the kitchen Mama’s
weeping chemical tears whilst
chopping bitter onion ends.
She’ll sauté them with mushrooms
(so small you could
swallow them like pills)
we bought for 10p three days ago
reduced to clear.
Last night we mixed water with
the milk to make it last,
and my mother went hungry so
she could watch me
since she’d rather drink
endless cups of tea (black),
although she hates the taste, than see me with an empty plate.
I’m the most ungrateful girl alive
‘cos Mama’s slowly becoming
while I’m still
starving for you:
you who never fed me a kind word,
stole away my lungs, left me without oxygen,
rerouted my mind to think I couldn’t
you had me gasping for you
and I was an addict,
I’m starving for you
though you trampled on my heart
like everyone always seems to
when I’m involved.
Tonight I’m finally done with you,
‘cos these days you’re a luxury
and I’m done being a spendthrift.