F for ache

She realised it now exactly for what it was:

‘Cos the ache of fakery 

Far outweighed the physical need to suck.

She had only been able to survive 

All these years

Because seens and heards 

Had replaced the touch of skin against skin.

And so she had mistaken the real cause:

She had assumed her sensory deprivation 

Had been the end-all 

And be-all

Of her badness and paranoia.

But in truth, it was there,

As rare as could re, 

In official documentation

And through terrifying recommendations,

Precisely and solely because

Her husband had insisted they pretended

To love each other.

It wasn’t the cold of frozen soul that killed her stone read

But this entity – “her” man! – which insistently assured her

That F was for fake, never fuck.






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