Meant for you

May 1985

I'm just a smidgen of smegma on your duvet cover, the last strained teardrop of semen from a passing lover.

 I'm the race of your pulse, the beat of your heart; I'm your foulest breath, your deadliest fart.

I'm the smell in the loo, the stain around the bath; your last bad joke and the loud phoney laugh.

I'm the friend who comes to dinner and cracks a forced smile; I'm your varicose veins and your bleeding piles.

I'm that screaming stain on your designer underwear, that lonesome sweat ring on your best brassiere.

I'm that heel-less shoe, I'm that broken zip; that nasty cold sore, resident on your lip.

I'm the blocked sinus and the aching head; the crumpled sheets on an unmade bed.

I'm the creaking floorboard, that bump in the night; I'm always wrong, I'm never right.

I'm the ladder in your stockings, the torn toe in your tights; I'm the lost ear-ring that's disappeared out of sight.

I'm stuck to your shoe and I'm your monthly surprise; I'm what the cat dragged in, all covered in flies.

I'm the man of your dreams, your worst nightmare come true.

You were meant for someone else, but I was meant for you.

Picture: DeeDee51