After, thoughts,

The sweating swoosh of infatuation,

The gripping, ripping, ride

Rolling cotton tides beneath us,

Its depth unknowing

We woke, fearful and aired our dirty linen,

Blotting the stains on our character,

It became an all-day affair of

Drowning, spinning, rinsing,

Wringing ourselves dry

The billowing bedclothes

Cling still to our confessions,

Till once more we are

wrapped in each other indelibly,

suffocating in this cloying warmth,

folding and pressing,

pressing and folding

Fresh sheets,

Smoothing the creases

Back into the closet

Out of sight

Out of mind

As the clouds darken

And the guilt spits and spatters

Boiling over the leavings of love

Before the coming storm

By Gavin Turner

First published in Roi Faineant press