I can see tubes hurt you
Pain bleach you
a clear sense of who you are marred the stone age contempt
now vanishing from your crippled lips.
I think I like what I see
I like the strong thrumming of your heart
When we lay blanketed in the bone silence
It was the other night
That you said the frost in the morning
Caught your eye,
It dripped, clear tears, that ran over the
The murk and sludge of
Christmas
I like your sense of things that
Trigger behind your eyes catching the unspoken
In a crackling snapshot,
Into the dark dense ringlets,
Of blanket and fog.
At night you’re relaxed,
Almost more alive, when your head
Melts into my chest, your whisper pours
through the room like a cat.
I have never forgot you, or your
plain faces. Your mornings then
lifted you lightly, telling you to
pick the plums.
When you are gone and the telephone restlessly
ticks, the newspaper lies buried under
your brushes…
I go to the bed, lie there, with the noise
Inside of me,
The room is full of you, the cemented scents,
And the bed that buried your boredom. I cannot
Hear your crying
Just watch the crumbs.
* * *
I listen to your words left
behind
seeping through
the duvet.
PhilosopherPoet
