Monday, 14 December 2009

He Writes to his Lost Mistress

I make words like I am touching you
as though I have alchemy in my biro.
In the Hadron collider
Some small flash, an infinitesimal event
May mean I could prove your existence
By your terminal absence-
In a chocolate cupcake shaped universe
You are pasted on the front of my mind
Refracting on walls and floors
You are other people's eyes when they are brown
Not brown, but topaz, I must be precise-
I am a child in this, and search for you
In the light on the aerodrome
Where the still gliders hang out in the blue
When I hold my breath, you may reassemble
My higher faculties say it is untenable
But my limbic brain says goddamn tick-tock-tick
Makes chemicals for making love, a waste-
I am leaning on an ice cold whitening rail
In December sun waiting for your hologram
That old impermanence that ruins stuff,
I cup my hand, conjure your breast,
Unfortunate but true.

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