Sunday, 25 September 2011

When I woke up this morning, you were almost here.

I stretched and my hand

reached over to you

and lay in the cold hollow in the pillow.

I could smell you on the sheets,

catch you moving in the air,

rising from the radiators

on convection currents.

In the kitchen, you'd left the light on.
The kettle, still throwing tiny spirals of steam,

sat innocently on the sideboard

waiting for closure.

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