365 Poems – 178 Absence (Rough First Draft)


Today, in my bed,

I had a collision

with a phantom

who claimed to be you.


But he smelt of

damp peaches.


You smell

of guitar strings

and sex.


The foot prints

you left on the

shower tiles

have had time

to breathe.


The pillow

where you rested

your face has resumed

its natural shape.


My skin thinks

it’s November,

words come apart

at the seams.


Time doesn’t feel

fragile. My lungs

tell my heart  to shut up.


When you’re around,

oxygen tastes like butter,

and I can run mountains,

taking no short cuts.