Choreplay

Here is a poem about ordinary ridiculous, tedious love. In January I lifted my gaze from the chopping board of sliced onions, tomatoes and garlic and saw him towering over the kitchen stove, flipping noodles in a pan. It was New Year's Day and I was falling in love watching a man make lunch for me, flipping noodles and carrots and courgettes (or maybe it was just my comedown).

Here is Choreplay, a poem about the underrated moments of love, when sex needs to find a compromise with life's daily endeavours.

Let’s make love as soon as we are able

when the plates are cleared from the table,

the dishwasher stacked neatly

and the surfaces completely

wiped clean of crumbs and yolk.

We can leave the pans to soak.

Let's make our love fast and urgent

once I have bought some more detergent

because the backlog of laundry

is simply quite extraordinary,

we really should do it oftener.

 I will also get some fabric softener .

Let our bodies writhe and manoeuvre

when I finished with the hoover.

know that it's rather late

but the house is in a state;

and our schedule has got off kilter.

 I think we need to wash the filter

let our love be reckless, exciting,

after I have done the recycling;

the lilac sacks securely tied

and placed in the street outside,

careful not to cause obstruction.

And so begins the sweet seduction.

Brian Bilston