writing reams of poetry in her head
on a Sunday morning lying in his bed
It rains against the window a perfect lazy day
she lies naked beside him
the most beautiful thing she had ever seen
with such colour structure and form
makes a second skin around him as he doesn’t touch her
he picks up his phone to read
she turns to the wall to cry
naked beside him not a bit of him to hold
everywhere she treads she treads on glass
and every time he bleeds
she can read him like a book
but could not interpret him
blinded by illusion
she makes romantic gesture
gifts burned in suggestion
his need to hate himself
more passionate than her love
she lies
here spent beside him
with no more Yeats to give
This poem was published in Golden Hour - Hora Dorada
you can buy it by send a message with your address to
colm@ciarnain.com it costs 12€ + postage
here at Litteraturcentrum Kvu
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