I wrote this poem in 1988, found it this evening, & this is its first ‘airing’.
The last time we made love
when you got up from my bed
pieces of my skin stuck to yours
and I was left raw and bleeding
But you didn't notice the loose bits of skin
hanging off you
and got dressed quickly.
So I cried
and my body shrivelled inside
shrinking away from the sore outer shell.
Now when we talk
the distance between us is so great
I can scarcely see you
through the haze of past closeness.
In my blindness I am scared
of walking into the
that divides us
and falling and falling...
the way it feels now,
there's not too far to fall,