French Press

written by Millie Crewe

illustrated by Victoria Bérisot

You held me tight as we slept

Limbs shuffling until they slotted into

each other

Squeezed like pinprick vessels on your

neck

Caught between teeth in the heat of

last night.

I didn't want to need this closeness,

hate to admit how much it aches, to be

kept at arm's length

For half the year.

I wonder if the shopkeeper thought

we were in love

as we bickered over cheap wine.

The thought makes me smile.

Maybe we can live on somewhere

Silent friends in watery suspension

Deep in a stranger's mind.

But in the morning you shook me out

Like crumpled receipts nestled in the pit of

a tote bag

So I walked back in short segments

Pausing from the weight of my suitcase

Reeling from the bitter sting of your

French press

that only one mug can hold, you said.