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January 14, 2013


I woke yesterday to find you there.
Still there.
Where other nights you’d fled.
From the whispered names of women in my sleep.
I suppose you’d noticed, of late.
How you were growing in my favour.
This time you were still in my bed.
You tried to hide your face.
But I could feel your head on my chest and your hands in my hair.
I’d never seen you in the light.
So fragile and guilty.
Never seen you stipped so bare.
Never noticed.
How very, very beautiful you are.

Who was I to try?
To take any other lover.
Anyone but you.
It’s you.
It’s you.
And it’s all been for you.
When another has passed through our life.
You’ve let lie and relented.
Shrank with a purr and an all knowing eye.
Curled ‘neath my bed and bided your time.
Knowing enough rope.
Has always been mine.
Now that rope has relinquished the others.
You slide from the shadows and slip under the covers.

She has a tattoo on her back of a reptile.
That’s shown when her wings are unfurled.
A snake.
There in black.
That turns and seeks the taste of its tail.
And the skin in the gap.
Is the sum of my days.
Numbered and needless.
Time left to love her and the Earth.
They grow short.
As all men’s are wont to do.
They fold as paper.
Like death into birth

Once teeth close that last remainder.
I will go down to the chamber.
And write there in the freezing sand.
A testament to her beauty with my red right hand.


From → Poetry

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