ADRIFT (by Deidre Cartmill)

I sniff the duvet as I pull it close
and wrap my arms around your memory

I lie in the smell of your aftershave.
Sweat drips off the sheets onto my skin.

One black sock, discarded by the bed
rolls under to hide with the bogeyman.

I sniff the duvet as I pull it close
and wrap my arms around your memory.

I wonder what phantoms you cling to –
my bruised lips skimming your stubbled cheek

the imprint of fingers on your pulsing
my photograph pinned above your desk

with the other fantasy images.
As I lie in the warmth of your absence

lulled by illusions of intimacy
I pull the memories close and drift back to sleep.

BONS MOTS (by Deidre Cartmill)

If he reached for me …. I’d drop my pen

He says that I don’t love him.
He says that I caress the page,
stroke my pen across its face
while he lies aching
for my tender touch.

He says that I roll words for thrills,
disguise the pain
in chocolate drops of thought
that drip from mind to nib
in vain.

But if he reached for me,
if he salved my soul with wordless
whispers from the tongue of his desire,
I’d drop my pen
I’d blaze through life on fire.