It all began with a whimper, 

a bang never came into it 

 

Together out of a bad habit, 

like smoking behind the bike sheds. 

The committee of their mutual friends, 

had decried describing the entire relationship 

as a waste of vitriol. 

 

There was excitement, 

in between the arms of the bony couch 

now and again. 

The rest of the time the dragged out pauses and silences, 

neither comfortable nor itchy 

they were just something that left a taste in their mouths. 

The only thing that made it feel anywhere right, 

was in the fact it was all so wrong. 

 

he looked at her over some cold toast 

She spied him from inside a hungover head, 

the kitchen radio did its best 

to distract itself from the empty hearted goings on. 

He thought it would be cold funny 

If their song suddenly came on. 

The odd bit of sex they still had  

did nothing but remind them how rare it was. 

 

He had a drawer half full of Dear Johns’ he never got up the nerve to send 

because to be in a relationship at all, well that beats the loneliness to bed. 

She sometimes practiced speeches to herself, 

she hadn’t the self to deliver 

but kept running laps round her head. 

Maybe next year would be better. 

Maybe next year we’d do it right.