I figured I should probably have a blog purely for poetry because I don't have much to say otherwise. More poetry comes -

This poem is not about
Feet: mismatched in every way –
colour, size, arch, quickness,
walking about a wet city with glee.
How they found ways to touch,
when people spoke to our faces,
not knowing that our toes were talking.

This poem is not about
Ears: how they kept me company
while you were asleep.
I played with your earlobes
twisted them like play-dough
and let my fingers whisper
secrets that would never reach your brain.

This poem is not about
Necks: Necks marked like territory,
necks aching for pillows and
aching as they hung out of single-beds
and bus-windows, and over classroom chairs,
and necks that noses dived into
for a fix of musk, of soap.

This poem is not about
Limbs: four into two, that is eight,
not counting the tendrils
that grew out of unimaginable places
to hold what limbs couldn’t hold tight enough
Limbs that were rained-on, sweat-on,
darting limbs that anticipated morning light and lay still.

This poem is not about
Palms: Quiet, quiet palms,
that went cold, dry, and smelt like food,
but couldn’t tell a lie
when their lines sensed
a faltering imprint and
changing texture

This poem is only about
That fleeting second:
when the most-remembered
parts of your body, left the room,
the house and the city.
In mirrors in dimly-lit pubs
And puddles under blackened trees,
I now smell them out like ghost-flavours.