Is it any wonder
I wear that half a smile
hanging off the corner of my mouth
whenever you come around.

I've held a candle
for so long
it has burnt your face into
the palm of my hand

The waxen image
glows
a constant reminder

On grey afternoons
when I allow myself
to wander the hallways
of might-of-been

Empty rooms pass
on either side
and you wait in none of them

There is no mercy in lust
it removes the inhibitions
of common sense
to replace them with
a racing heart
and a throbbing loin.

It makes breathing a chore
concentration
scatters
so many thoughts
winging starlings
startled into flight
scattering in every direction

I can handle it
suppress it

till you come close
or touch me
as you will do
as you always do

At some stage
a gesture so small
a palm against the small of my back
a wrist
across my wrist

Then
there will be

no air



I can hold you in
gasp you into my lungs
and it will suffice

And when you have gone again
I still have you inside

for days or weeks or months

I have waited
for nothing for so long

the lunacy is sane to me

it succours
sustains

feeding an addiction
carefully nurtured over years

And each time I think of you

the overwhelming
nothing of our secret
non event
fills me once more

succours
sustains