With un-brushed teeth
and mascara eyes I fall asleep,
holding you –
flaking off eye shadow
on your chest like black moths.
I push your heated body
The fairy lights flicker
from a loose connection above me;
the TV’s eye blinks red for standby.
Chipped plates sit at the foot of the bed,
smothered in warm mayonnaise
and crumbs of Chicken Kiev.
I turn to look at you –
deep in sleep
that you are wearing jeans in bed.