That Evening, A Dusty, Frayed

in her eyes shook when we made love
above the Chinese takeaway and its fragrance
of fried horse chestnuts, green peppers
and oiled sinew like mushrooms.

Earlier, change had fallen out of her pockets
when she fumbled for her Nelly the Elephant
key ring as I unclipped her pink lace bra,
in the dark doorway across
from the abandoned Charity shop.

Facets of her appeared in the dailies,
and I questioned her later in afternoon shadow
about the sexual positions she enjoyed
as she asked over the miniature red
rose in its thin glass vase
for her live bloated lobster to be boiled.

A silver claw around her neck
brought her round in the gobbets of rain
she was only too pleased
when the Chinese woman downstairs
asked her to fashion a gold cat with rubies
for eyes out of metal dredged from the canal

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