I remember the last time we made love
Feeling nothing – your body impertinently brash.
Dressing in darkness, planning our move
Silhouettes at dawn, in your flat in Christchurch.

Silenced sealed a certain fate: in a speeding cab
Through litter filled streets of Drumcondra
You squeezed my sweaty palm, rain falling drib drab
Slipped away – my Cinzia.

Months later on borrowed time, united again
Cruelty lingered like a hangman’s rope.
Skin darker, hair lighter, the gloaming began
Cold stare: betrayal looming inside.

And often in that concrete place
Where you used to throw the keys
I’d fall so deep, into the sea
Of possibilities.

JP O’Malley is a writer who lives in London.