Am I become the name

You cannot remember?

The knock

On the bloody void?

Am I the taste,

In your jet steam of recollection?

Or have I been moved on,

Like another riddance,

Like the phantasm of a dream?

I feel left behind.

Because unable to weather you,

Your presence melted from my grasp.

I let you drip from me

Like water through my arms.

You splashed my feet,

I mistook your tears for a flood.

Now I wade, waist deep in the desert

Counting my worry beads,

As a hippie does.

There will never be a time to come,

I know.

I freeze during fevered nights.

I long for your touch, then your after glow.

C 2019 Christopher Thompson

All rights reserved.

Fast poem

Started 21.20 GMT

Ended 21.47 GMT


Cannock England.

4 thoughts on “Slip

  1. you don’t have to join, just have a read of my blog posts there. I’m so glad I got my shit back up and running. Well… maybe not running, but they’re back up. I don’t understand why my layout for the cult page remained in tact but my mmmother site was fucked.

    Liked by 1 person

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