I Will Not Think Of You At 2 A.M.

I will use lists as my defence,
each item a stone in the barricade
keeping you in your place.

The easiest comes first –
capital cities, Shakespeare’s heroines,
names beginning with E.

You hover over me
waiting until I relax or forget,
fingers drumming on my chest.

I’m running out of categories:
dog breeds, prime ministers,
lovers who left me, lovers I left,

authors with unusual names,
English counties, types of cheese.
Nothing helps.

You’re waiting for me
in the contents of rock pools,
red hair mingling with anemone’s tendrils.

 

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