Again he said 'there's no such thing as love,'
in response to something the
ABC radio announced,
'it's just a mathematical formula,
the product of loneliness and lust',
as he brought the mugs of tea to bed.
As we slowly woke to another day,
he settled down into the same pocket
in the mattress, placed his hand
on mine and slurped his tea the way
he has for forty-seven years.