Kata Brown

i 
am the
muffled cry,
claiming back 
damp echoes of 
yesterday

you
are the 
moderate extravagance 
of boxing day sales 
and organic 
milk

timid, you arrive. hushed
hotel with 
faded carpet
holding dry 
desperate kisses of 
secret love affairs

we are lacking in charisma

i can see 
the blister of routine on
your skin and

i am tender 
when i see 
your hairline recede;
you are 
blushing 
like a boy

come to me as Iphis
be both but 
don't be yourself
i am so 
goddamn
tired 

of knowing you