The persistence of touch.

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


The smell of you



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.