Thursday, 20 October 2016

While you fly.

When I returned I found your jumper
thrown, carefree, on the floor
in abandonment, I concurred.
Charcoal grey in stitches, slightly pulled
from that catch last night,
a nail on the chair.
I wove it back through
now quietly hidden
in reverse.
later, freshly bathed
I pulled it on
hot skin now warmed again by your scent
your aftershave, your sweat
memories of home,
morrocan lamb,
bacon for breakfast and candles,
now only puddles of wax on the dresser.
we are together
droplets in the air
but you are absent
flying high
I curl into our unmade bed
breathing you in.

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