by Tabatha Stirling


You tumble down our dusty path and at the gate

you turn and remind me of our first parting.

Years ago, when the smart of it was

as nippy as this one.

‘The corner shop is still there', you say.

Your heart dusty with lust.  Content to

leave this time knowing your safe harbour

well enough to go with out a map.


The memory of my hair and cunt enough

to lead you home.