Love Makes You Fat

Three weeks later, for the last time,
I lay on pillow of my farmer’s heart.
He says for the first time, ‘You’ve
Gotten greyer, baby.’ For a moment
We pretend we grew old
Together.

He is rounder round the
Waist, my knees make sound.
I have sprung greys he is losing.
‘What is it about love that fattens,’
I say with complacency – our
Third flatmate.

When it is done, one day soon,
He will come for his things
Go to the gym. He will raze his hair short.
I will roast the greys to rust.
I will go dancing again,
Yanking back my center of gravity
An act of unaging, scrubbing,
Vacating the homes we had begun to
Fill out.

We will say we let ourselves
Go the way dead fishes
Go with the flow.
‘What is it about love that oldens,’
We will mutter as friends hold our
Fullness halved in barter for comfort – our
Fourth flatmate.

He will call family he hasn’t spoken to in a
While and they will wonder why and
He will know. I will return to the poem
I abandoned the day we met. Unceremoniously
We will cry back the people we used to
Be, alone.

When it is done, one day soon,
We will take stock. Two mothers ignored,
Seven friends fallen off, fifteen pizzas too many,
Forty-three days in bed unmade,
Sixty-two commitments unattended,
One person made into a habit.

The four of us will separate and evacuate
A happy ending we were told to want.
A home that housed patterns uninvited.
An escape in the name of love uninformed.
When it is done, one day soon,
Two people – older, fuller, fatter –
Will begin again.