Martyn Crucefix

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 mouths, I hear
the precise weep weep.