another strange night in purgatory
our faces torn between the heaven
of tipsy candlelight & the hell
of gaudy neon signs that curious
liminal state in which we existed
in love out of love somewhere
between agony & pain we were
really angry at each other for reasons
out of reach to me now I’d probably
done something stupid or had too many
feelings again that you couldn’t take
but the safety of our cloistered sanctuary
in this cosy little restaurant we had
never been to before & the warmth
& comfort afforded by the melting
wax pillar that stood coyly between us
as we sat in quiet contentment falling
silently into respect for each other again
our bellies full of risotto & steak & rioja
neither of us daring to say
anything to disrupt this
rare piece of peace
to make the first move to utter
I think we should call it a day
look this has been fun but
the rhythmic blinking of electric
signs on the other side of the window
the liquid letters in brash colours
screaming 18+ touting London’s finest
mags + dvds + toys + girls girls girls
& MASSAGE with a short-circuited M
the way the fluorescence fell on your face
(I could’ve screamed you looked like a saint)
dissipated my rage our rage it made us
wicked & in the mood for sabotage
but in a different way so we went to
a peep show instead & laughed our heads
right back & fucked on the night bus home
backseats top deck & you asked me to
marry you the next day & I said no
because I loved you so much
I told you that you deserved better
than me but now I’m not sure
if I really truly meant it
because in the end
you turned out
to be a prick.
____
HLR (she/her) is a prize-winning working-class poet from North London. She was commended in the National Poetry Competition 2021 and won the Desmond O'Grady International Poetry Competition 2021. She is the author of History of Present Complaint (longlisted in the Poetry Book Awards 2022) and EX-CETERA (forthcoming, Nine Pens, 2023). Find her on Twitter: @HLRwriter.