This fire is matt

It was glossy once, our contained love, with some sparkle,
flecks of pink rage amongst the haze and the rain.

And now with our dull sheen and muted reflections,
the bother of addressing the who-we-weres –
the who-we-might-have-beens having already

high-tailed it to some more likely den of iniquity.
Oh for some sheer impudence let alone sheer underwear!
Then the whisper no polite cough no hem and haw

no stutter that time’s up it’s morning there’s a new day
out there didn’t you know? We nod our hands
shake our heads, acquiesce to the empty slabs

in front of us. Somewhere near, an emergency tender
blows a duo-tone that sounds uncannily like
the doppler effect trying to say I did love you.