Ghost of You, by Lucia Irvine

Do you want to,
Come over later?
I hear myself say y e s.
It tastes sour in my mouth,
I didn’t like lemons until I met you.
I recount the time you smashed a bottle millimetres from my face,
Maybe my riposte was too smart,
You glunched and I braced.
I imagine gnashing the glass,
Desperately digesting your aggression,
Slurping my bloodied gums, I spit:
‘whatever you are, I am too’.
You are the train and I am the station,
Withdrawn entities and lifeless conversation.
I grin at you with my new veneers,
you recoil at my advance,
We are the clasp and the loop on my favourite necklace:
impossible at times.
And did anyone ever tell you I look for you the same way I look for post on a Sunday?
It’s unexpected, hopeful and
Sincerely yours,
Never There.

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