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written by: Gavin Haycock



you have your seat
a place of unguarded principality
rarely moving, barely there
clothed in naked apprehension
as gardens mindlessly bloom
within reach of any eye to see
                           any hand to feel
a small child woven from a womb, a warring absence
fabricated by bittersweet neglect from nearby orchards
a scar waiting anxiously for another summer to heal
never wanting creeping vines or moss to disappear
to provide respite from limb-embracing fault lines
burning their way to your fever tree crown
what might other faces ever know?
you have no desire to see or touch them
once while licking a postage stamp into icing on a paper birthday cake
I thought you didn't have the strength to rebuke unconventional love
preferring instead to carry past fragments in a box of jewels
plastic-wrapped in cathedral cupboards in your mind
a state of suspended grace
such sunlight and collapsed conversations
bone idle prescriptions could not be tolerated
by milligram mouthfuls
flushed red with water
while only the door looked at you

Gavin Haycock

Gavin Haycock

Once a crime reporter, once a journalist and editor, then other things. Creatively, into poetry, crime fiction and short tales. A journey of many pages starts with words from one pen and all that ...
Gavin Haycock

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