Your skin glows like hot coals in a winter fire
and blossoms as softly as would a bed of nettles in the dusty rains of spring
My burning heart rises like an organ
and leaps like a giraffe at the scream of your name,Charmaine
The evening descends like a crowd of great black crows’ wings
I am calmed by your old silk slip that I carry into the pub every night
not caring what the other men think of me.
I am filled with hope that I may dry your tears with blotting paper[ as I bought too much]
and give you freshly brewed brandy from my own glass teapot
As my cigar falls from my lip, it reminds me of your lost hopes of winning the Lottery.
In the hushed evening, I listen for the last strum and thump of the neighbour’s TV.
My heated body leaps into my bed along with my spirits and my photo of you and a few dozen other women.
I wait in the crystal moonlight for the email with your secret plans
so that we may peer at one another shortsightedly
in search of the the physical joys and spiritual completion of true love
whilst simultaneously watching ancient films on the TV
and cleaning our nails and ordering the groceries on line
and other tasks we don’t yet remember to forget
how beautiful it is to love and cherish someone as winter descends
like a ton of dead rabbits.
and Xmas approaches like a Victoria line train coming into Euston
almost sucking us off the platform to certain death.
How much longer will you keep me waiting?