Half Of Me (extract)

You weren’t there that night,
I didn’t feel you around.
The lights were off last night.

Midnight talks had broken down,
The echoes of warm breath rose through
The floor, claiming words but not sound.

I tried hard instead to hear the cat’s mew
Over the pounds of disagreement,
Which I could never sleep through.

(When the neighbours from Tashkent
Went at it, hammer, sickle, and tongs,
I never understood their accent,

Which helped me sleep.) I tried listening to songs,
All sorts, blaring into my ears, but the bass
Of your voice would rattle my lungs

And I would hear nothing else.
My fault for wanting that futon;
Three inches of foam between the floor and my face.

Some mornings I’d wake to my ears being bitten
By the pistol pops of a cowboy’s gun below me.
You were watching Rawhide again.