poetry

Open up

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 brushesโ€ฆ

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

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