I've struck gold with this time in between
the times when we went back to less nothing more something.
Less of the something we've been for nine years
and more of the nothing that turns on to his back with a sigh
Inevitably groping for trousers and breathes an overdone joke.
As though to draw our friendship like a line across
Our brief interludes as lovers.
I'm lucky I got time to convalesce
Before I let him lead me back into Ariadne's murky labrynth
dragging my rationale like thread behind me.