Black Hope

Midnight. Kettle clicks off. Never tea.
Charcoal bench. Petrol blue sink. Bruise sky holding.

I nail a ledger to the fridge.
Line one: deposit. Line two: arrears. Breath is billable.

Harbour light blinks counterfeit.
I row in place. The shore stays cruel.

Your cup prints a brown ring that will not lift.
Your coat works the hook, a tired guard.

The cat watches the door, then the space the door makes.
He blinks once, slow, like a stamp.

I learned the rhythm. Joy first. Knife next. Quiet after.
“I love you” belongs on the floor with the glass.

You were supposed to come back.
One hard line opens the ribs without noise.

2:14. I sort paper.
Grease thumbprint on a receipt. Blood in the basin. Friends thinned.

A blonde hair clings in the sink trap.
The mirror keeps its oath and says nothing.

The rock waits on the stairs. I push.
It returns. Morning does not care.

I hand back your keys. I keep the locks changed.
Name what stays standing: cold pillow, dead phone, coins in a film canister.

Hope sells on credit.
After midnight the rate climbs. I tap. Approved.

I write the ruling in thick ink.
A clerk slides it across without looking up.

I keep the leaving. You keep the light.
Fuse lit. Quiet burn.

Dawn leaks like a bad seal.
I switch the harbour out in my head and hear bones click.

Balance: paid.
Interest ongoing. Collections working from inside the chest.

F.S.F