Painting

I just don't want to know about

The way the lamp lights up your room

Or the table-top your elbow's on

Or the wood you write and work upon

I just don't want to know about

Quiet evenings moving on

Nights of re-inventing lives

Unfinished stories

Unsatisfied

The small scar on my hand's the same

You eased and took away the pain

But now I'm taking all the blame

For wounds neither one of us could quell

And the blood won't wash away so well

I find myself on the street again

Beneath your window in driving rain

Needing to see just for myself

What you could only tell to someone else

What you couldn't say to me yourself

I just don't want to know which way

Your window faces on the day

Or the route you take to face the world

Or the way you're sleeping

Sheets unfurled

You and another neatly curled

around the centre of what was my world.