Before I started this blog, I hadn’t really written anything but e-mails for nearly twenty years, so I need all the practice I can get. I swore never to write any poetry for this blog. Here it is:
The memory of touch.
It’s been hours since we were together
And still
The warmth of your skin warms mine.
The soft, slow waves of your breath
Are gone from me now
And still
They stir the fine hairs on my neck and shoulder,
A touch without touching.
The weight of you
Still
The smell of you
Still
Jesus lady!
It was a bank queue,
Not a conga line!
You need to learn about personal space
Before you fall pregnant
On the five o’clock bus.
Advertisements
