Spinach In My Teeth

It could take months
the getting to know you thing-
months of misunderstandings
over the viscosity of peanut butter,
negotiation over kissing in public,
kitchen table conferences
agenda of ‘where are we?’
These months shall pass-
we will weave strands of each other
into the edges of ourselves
knowing that we have ticked our boxes,
that I will never buy spinach
and you never wear tartan below the waist.
At this time, at the very zenith of our harmony
I will hate you very much and
you will despise my every move.
This familiarity bred a jeroboam
of sparkling contempt
you will stride like
Rupert The Bear whilst
I slop saag aloo into a dish.