Martyn Crucefix, 25 October 1990
The digits have flapped like an animated cartoon book telling a likely story.
I’m late home because I’ve been watching another woman, knowing she watched me.
I’m the hotter for you. As I slide into your lap, you laugh in my face, teeth and tongue
glistening in your mouth, and grasp me by the wrists. But a stray finger dabs twice
at a button on my watch. As we lock our...