Look: this is me
sweating,
spotlit,
centre stage.
And that’s you
in the shadows.
Pacing.
I crack the whip -
you leap through a blazing hoop.
I crack the whip -
you walk on your hind legs,
grinning like a human being.
I crack the whip -
you bare your teeth.
I stick my head
inside your mouth.
How they applaud.
But after the show
when I’m heating a cup of soup
and you’re locked in your box,
I can still feel your breath on me;
the ache
of old lovebites
and
I hear you roaring in the distance
“I am the reason for your existence.”