no one on the winter beach
I slap my hand against the pier
seagulls raise their heads to a creamy sky
grid of stars
hunched grey figure under branches
empty garden swing still moving
it has come to this
masturbating into the sink
stared at from the mirror
I am done, quite
like a toad with its eyes
popped out by a child
curled up like a fish on a platform bench
the train is late by several years
this morning I forgot to kiss your lips