On the off-chance that you might let me in,
I agree to sit compliantly at the head of your bed,
agree to have the dodgy controller, hope
to play our relationship on fast forward for a while.
Parkouring to an arcade soap opera theme, you batter
the buttons. I feel ringing in my ears. When my spin jump
doesn’t make it, you turn
to look at me
for the first time

you’re straight into rolling attack but
I am sat behind, remember? Your aura –
I would sacrifice everything. Maybe

we hit chaos control, suddenly you are
sat between my two kids showing them
how to spin jump, quick-step rivals.
They may be the wind, but
we are closer than you know.