Adrienne

Why don’t we go away, my lover asks me, I shudder at the lacunae, I'm sat here feeling blue, can’t you see, the thing has flown, I feel her thoughts race, not so much at infidelity, but my lack of grace, I can’t do the swoon, or sit and dream of Pliny, sick of these damn books, maybe if I have some space, let her know subtly, the sky has changed, she could be happy too, reading the Financials weekly, she’d never get confused, I’d be less crabby.