Sit still while I
comb the demons from your hair.
On their way out
they are spitting,
and fighting.
Grabbing at the knots,
their lips on your lips.
I bite down hard and tear them out with chunks of hair.
Picking out the lies slowly from between my teeth.
Like looking in the mirror at a petrol station
or, in another life,
sitting together quietly
on an empty porch.
You never returned my library books,
I always forgot and
folded down the pages.
When I imagined you with her
it was like us,
but with the sheets crumpled
into a different shape.