In a lovely flat overlooking the bay,
you crossed your fingers behind your back
and told me that you loved me.
And I, the confident fool,
didn’t even bother turning around
to disturb my position at the window.
Instead, I looked down at my
white, naked fingers spread out
indifferently over the dusty windowsill
and tried to imagine what a
diamond would look like
on my unglamorous hands.
Fortunately, I did not turn around
to face your face – had I done so,
I might have noticed that
involuntary twitch of your mouth,
or those darting eyes, or that spray of
sweat over your yellow forehead-
but I, the confident fool,
caught instead, the reflection of your
beating black heart…and that,