When I woke
you were gone.
A bowl in the pillow
where your head slept,
six hours
pouring what passes for coffee
these days.
In a text
you told me
you burnt your hand,
showed me
a pomegranate splash that danced
between your fingers.
Ouch, it still hurts you know...
Didn't hear you come in,
silent angel
but your perfume
lingers like a delicious poison
and I notice flowers
are starting to crumble
as snowballs on our window.
No mirror
so I cannot see
whether you've left
a cherry lipstick birthmark
on my cheek
or a note which says
didn't want to wake you!
Got this feeling,
jet lag maybe
but I haven't moved,
haven't flown anywhere.
I flump my arm
into the blank space
where your body ought to be.
Jul 31, 2014
Jul 31, 2014 at 10:22 AM UTC
When I woke
you were gone.
A bowl in the pillow
where your head slept,
six hours
pouring what passes for coffee
these days.
In a text
you told me
you burnt your hand,
showed me
a pomegranate splash that danced
between your fingers.
Ouch, it still hurts you know...
Didn't hear you come in,
silent angel
but your perfume
lingers like a delicious poison
and I notice flowers
are starting to crumble
as snowballs on our window.
No mirror
so I cannot see
whether you've left
a cherry lipstick birthmark
on my cheek
or a note which says
didn't want to wake you!
Got this feeling,
jet lag maybe
but I haven't moved,
haven't flown anywhere.
I flump my arm
into the blank space
where your body ought to be.
Written: July 2014.
Explanation: A poem written in my own time, inspired by Simon Armitage's 'Night Shift.' Feedback always appreciated.
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