Propped forward of her own deep arse,
leaning as if rising to stand,
she is hunched upon a diary
the pages of which are turned rapidly,
more as if in search than reading,
jumping sifting among pages.
Sat opposite, he watches her
with care, disguised in amusement.
She looks to him in mutual stares.
She says: Warren is quite upset.
He bought you a pain au raisin.
You didn't eat any of it.
Smiling, he giggles to himself
expressionless now, eyes half-closed.
[Should have been sent yesterday but I was indisposed. We apologise for