I was your bed tortoise from every dreaded kiss. I only felt your warmth, when inside you born from Smirnoff. My flesh was like a ferry roll on roll off. You would say you loved me crowning me a King of pedestals and guilt. You were not her I was not me I was never there The other woman was. When it was all over your exit was impressive. The landing light vigil and mantelpiece memories facing away from sight, like the way I slept. Eight months have passed. Your hair is short now you even wear low skirts. I feel closer to you at arms length for I am not yours you were never mine the other woman was. Is.