Barefoot Instalments Poem by Mark Heathcote

You came to me in barefoot instalments
Like a moth to its hidden lair
Each time you left, a little more powder
The right amount of disrepair.

Enough to remiss each wanton second
That didn't quite last long enough.
Enough that I'd later follow beckoned
By hearts, ever decreasing puffs.

You came to me in barefoot instalments
Like a moth to its hidden lair
Now I run to you. Through the streetlights,
Falling madly deep in your snare.