COFFEE MACHINE
Your absence is just
A gentle knuckling between my ribs
The cold suck of air underneath my skull
My bald eyes focus, refocus –
Still you’re not here. Morrissey isn’t helping
What would I say, anyway?
Your crick-rack accent and staccato tongue
Missing from these whirrs and clunks;
And from his Northern sorrows, older than your first breath.
Crushed utterly by the crush
The only girl who makes me come
Running.
– Angela Hudson
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Angela is Writer, poet, teacher, mama – drawing on life and trying to render on paper ideas from a busy mind.
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