Poetry interlude: As Though Nothing Had Happened

AS THOUGH NOTHING HAD HAPPENED.
Marseilles, 2002.

© David Milligan-Croft.

I trace a line
Where your fingers had lain.
Sliding my palm
Up the rail,
To the gleaming metal fuselage.

I can feel you
Beneath my fingertips;
Intermittently, you are there,
Then you are gone.

I am caught like a magnet,
In the places you’d laid your hand.
Paralysed on the steps
I have to prise my fingers
Away from your polarity.

There you are, at the top.
Smiling.
Flicking a strand of auburn hair
Behind your ear. As though…
As though, nothing had happened.

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