Ten past four, somebody knocked
Headlights swung across the hall
I didn't move, the engine died
You sat down in the dark, that's all
You had the spare key all this time
You didn't ask who'd called that week
You dropped your keys on the kitchen chair
And you sat down on the floor
Two bowls, one spoon, no plate
You made the toast, you cut it wrong
Then you said my name out loud
You said it twice into the room
You held the cup until I drank it
You left the stove light on
And you stayed
You rinsed the glass I left in March
You poured the last cup on the fern
You sat there while the sky went grey
Boots still wet, coat still on
Then you said my name again
Softer than the first time
You put your hand flat on my back
And you left it there
You opened your mouth and shut it again
You looked at the floor instead
You held the cup until I drank it
Then you leaned in close to me
you said I'm still burning
I couldn't say it back
"Eat a little, then sleep."
"I'm not taking my coat off."
"I'll take the armchair by the window."
And I let you
The door is still unlocked
The toast is still on the table
And I almost, almost —
