It’s cold, only the gas fire,
on the brim of the hill in Tufnell Park,
the attic flat reached by Jacob’s Ladder.
A bay window looking out over to the pub opposite,
drunken people spill onto the pavement
filling the flat with raucous laughter.
I ask you to take some photographs,
to document my body changing,
see my breasts enlarging, the areola darkening.
I am thin,
The first few weeks of pregnancy,
have eaten me.