I see your lips shaping to call out my name.
I’m already looking down. The pool
beneath my feet turns acid, acrid memories rising
to curl, choking, around my throat. They are monsters,
and I can no longer run. Give me
the alkaline words that I need to neutralise them,
turn them into harmless fungi
that one day will be plucked and fried
over a low heat ready
to be served up for breakfast,
where we sit together finally,
laughing and talking about things like we always should have done.