an afternoon in Clover Avenue

it was Jessica who remarked
how she liked
the green coat
as she sat drinking tea
after cutting the grass
her face no sign
of the murder beneath

in silence I watched
a fly walk
on that orange and red carpet
my hands wanted only
that cream flesh
the half smiling
spiteful mouth

can she ever know 
would she care
brought to my knees
torn into pieces
bathed in faeces
and she quite likes
the idea of going out some day

everything counts for nothing
if you to another are nothing

as nothing is enough
to the lover
dead horses win no races
the windows need some paint
they are peeling 
I suppose they were last done
many years ago

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