Living On Your Own

They say that dogs don't answer back, perhaps they do,
might say: 'Where's my food, I'd like something new,'
Mr. Chan said that he was tired of being told what to do,
after twelve years of instruction from someone like you.

Backwards and forwards between fancy apartments,
time is delivered, sorted, in compulsory increments;
'I like going to your place, a clandestine venue,
where I live my fantasies, delivered right on cue.'

'Maybe I'll stay like an illicit holiday in your arms,
where detachment from before lifts me and calms,'
it's quiet now, sounds of emotions conveniently gone,
I can create sound if I choose to do so - your song.

I can stretch, extend where your place used to be,
but for the moment, I'm going for a walk by the sea.