My Own Unsteady Heart

The space between us now, more like a chasm,
Has stretched, from centimetres into miles,
Intense disgust where there used to be smiles,
Nothing left, not even the protoplasm
Ancestor of the late lamented orgasm
That neither one of us, in all our trials,
Has felt regret for. A lost love beguiles,
Bewitches with the memory of a spasm.

I tended you sometimes when you were ill,
But your impatience was a nurse’s bane,
And when I touched your heart, your cry of pain
Stopped me, my own unsteady heart stood still,
And both of us agreed we’d had our fill.
I’d kiss you now, but there’s nothing to gain.