He comes to me from the nighttime cold
on my ivy snow doorstep and me at my window
Comes in big boots and coats
Comes in with haircut gossip and grey rumours
My wrinkle body is old and slow and silent listening
He is a lonesome traveller blowing from north to east outside
He is the fearless knight to save prostitute princesses
And I’ll know what he’ll do
But I’ll know my little legs are too weak to do anything
He sips hot chocolate I made for him
And lays my paintings to face the carpet
And takes the strings from my instruments
Hands me
Knives, knickers and razor blades from his many pockets
To come into my bed
He hides away the red roses and dreamcatchers
Though I could hear him while he slept
Hear him mumbling about clean white velvet sheets
Hear him whisper of fat black women’s gelatine foreheads
The blood of others in the morning
All over my bed blankets
To see him eating and wine drinking downstairs
And then to meet his wave goodbye with my blank like smile
Walking out the door to his posse
All on their horses
And their menacing pointy hats
I promise I’ll never let anyone ever come in again
But I’ll know my little legs are too weak to do anything.