I like it    I don't like it

He got her drunk very quickly

Holding hands, they found the broom-cupboard

Where he had control as far as the fall

When his hand covered wet hair

She took over among furniture wax

Dust, and the cloying yellow of polishing-cloth

When he was sick, she comforted him

Oh hush, my friend, and sleep

And cuddle to the wind

Sleep on through the waves

That may wet your lover's dream

We have been far through this night long hours

We will go far, tomorrow, out of sight, ooh...

He couldn't do it properly

The disco, the office, the pub,

Had left out those details of delight.

Satisfied, he would collapse out,

Puzzled at why she still squirmed,

Held onto him, tears curling into her mouth

This was something their stories always omitted

That her joy would seem like pain

When he focused after his release.

Do sand and shells and stones

Peep in through your night?

But you should not be hurt

For all will pass with time.

We have been far through this night long hours

We will go far, tomorrow, out of sight, ooh...

In the third week of the relationship

She was tripping on organic acid

Would stop to pick up a rained-out leaf

Would give it tenderly into his hand

Full of dead things before they reached the car

When they drove she sat with mouth open

As though photographed on the impact of a stomach punch

Her right fist gripping the skin of his left leg

Hooking the steering-wheel closer to his heart

He feared her, and slapped out sideways into her face

She entered the cut with her tongue

Gurgling gratitude for the strange taste

Do you fear the dark?

Then hush, and realise

That though the angels never come

Prayers can soothe your mind

We have been far through this night long hour

We will go far, tomorrow, out of sight, ooh...

There was no premonition of the wet Hog's Back

The sportscar slumped, snout into a beech

Their corpses giving the vehicle arms

Petrol and blood at last dripping together

But quick flashes of a planned lunch

Cold red beef, white cloth by a cherrywood fire

Game pie, and for him two pints of colder beer

The winter air tucking under their eyelids

As they spun on the gravel at Clandon

Their hands steaming from quick moisture

The aromatic finger drawn up to his nostril

Dazed after mutual masturbation

They zigzagged into a conservative end

Oh hush, my friend, asleep.