there is romance

in hearing her

rattle the toilet roll holder

there against the wall

knowing in seconds I can get in

do my thing

get the morning going

there is romance

hearing her breathe

guinea pig sounds in the night

snuffle pig I call it

as she moves restless

between too hot sheets

there is romance

in the smells the closeness

intimacy of two rotting bodies

living together doing exactly

what nature demands

there was little romance

when I lived apart

rattling in rooms

farting in the stillness

sleeping alone

dying in solitude

gracelessly