Siamese Twin Domestic

Grab my wrist and drag me like Eng and Chang
across the kitchen fluff grease and stink.
Joined at the hip, joined at the sink,
there's something of Stockholm Syndrome in your slang.
I thought I was me but I find I'm a gang.

I thought we were we, but I find I'm alone
except for some self-harm spat,
and the moribund spider-plant and our cat,
and the moans in our bed and complaints on the phone.
I gave you everything, even blood, dear clone.

© Mark Sheeky. Permission is required for reproduction.