Normal

How do I end up here, thinking this is normal?
That romantic evening of cuddles, films and wine.
That fucking stupid idea has disolved into this:
Me, in default (wine, music, alone, writing), waiting.

I'm here, while we should be kissing and touching.
Here alone, waiting for you to turn up.
Waiting for you to finish trawling the bars,
To see if you can find a better offer.

You; looking, talking and flirting.
You out there, right now, trying to persuade
Some idiot vulnerable woman
That what you have is what she wants.

While I sit here,
Texting innocent food conversation
To my latest puppy. Talking shit while I
Wait for you to get bored and come over.

My words to this beautiful other man full
Of genuine care and the hint of possibility.
All the while imagining you getting here,
Thinking about where we will fuck first.