viking blonde
with glacier eyes, when the news flutters
Utøya
the Bookseller of Kabul
Spitsbergen
and oil revenues,
I remember your face
in school meetings and across pub tables.
As I close the TV down and
space quiet silence crushes the room
I remember your back,
tickled by light through dusty curtains
and thrown down by God
to soak one of his Angels.
As I run the bath,
I remember your hands,
that showed my
clumsy, ugly touch
all they could
moulding me like
one of your lumps of clay
and firing me, re-born,
wiped clean of fear.
As I kill the light in my bedroom
a black blank canvas unfurls around me and
I paint
your jewellery on the floor,
fish restaurants,
your hair in my beard,
the lilt in your voice,
and your legs around my soul,
dragging me deeper
until I wake,
the sun rises,
and you leave, again,
to conquer me once more.
I remember you
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