Dear You —
as long as we’re both alive
you’re likely always to be
the last person I kissed,
and also the next person.
Mostly there’s only us,
and mostly that’s good.
Today, though, the house
suddenly felt empty.
I found myself thinking
what a quiet street, and how
if you die and leave me,
this could be an isolated life.
Then you said how strange
it felt, to be the only ones,
no other people here with us;
how you kept looking for them.
Even before that, you asked,
‘Where’s all our family?’
fretting that your cousin in Scotland
is slow to answer your emails.
The year draws in towards winter.
It’s a long holiday weekend.
We haven’t got a car, and it’s hard
for your painful legs to walk our street.
Yet, when I lie beside you
and say, ‘Yes, it’s just us two,’
you smile and say, ‘That’s good!
‘You’re enough for me,’ and we kiss.
Day 23 - The last person you kissed
Some of these poems are autobiographical, some are entirely fictional, and some are a mixture of both. The intention is art rather than self-expression. I don't allow factual details to get in the way of poetry! (I do seek emotional truth.) They are works in progress, and may be subject to revision without notice. Completed versions appear in my books. Nevertheless copyright applies to all texts found here. Copyright also applies to almost all photos posted here, though a few are licensed under Creative Commons.
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