Colder On The Inside Poem by David Archer

The distance between them lay
new carpet like, professionally flat,
measured in expensive metres;
each stood on the edge of
the picked clean carcass of
polite conversation that harboured
sharp submerged memories
loud enough to slam doors
long since locked and keyless;

The forgotten bottled years of 'Love'
they had gathered and labelled in small words
'Expires when we run out of life'
prematurely cracked and uncorked
it revealed a picture of two strangers,
each holding a wound,
each holding a knife.