I’m thinking of you

I’m thinking of you
With a rope round your neck,
The funeral I missed,
And the day that we met

Up on old Oxford Street
My hand full of flowers
The way that we kissed
The light of the hour

The sun’s yellow spears
My ten-dollar suit
A monoxide we dreamed
Your new leather boots

Your painting of spoons
Its blue on your fingers
The curve of your breasts
It’s your body that lingers

You travel inside me     you’re someone I see
A morning in winter     period blood on my knee
Our time just to fuck     our time just to sleep
The children you dreamt of      your question to me

A poem on a mirror
A dress that unstitched
A Joy Hester portrait
A soul made of sticks

A father in shadows
A mother of loss
The Jesus you prayed to
That dress on a cross

Your Magdalene hips
Your mouth like a clown
Your strange lack of skin
When your feelings came down

Titanium whites     in your sheared chestnut hair
Your voice in the morning     your laughter with me
The grip of depression     how you stood on a chair
Our breakfast of eggs      a lost sketch of me

I lose you in time
As you jump out of life
A room full of paintings
Dried oils on a knife

A room full of paintings
A brush in a bottle
A rag of pale colours
Dead friends in a photo

Did you say you were sorry?
I heard of a note
Did you rest your heart on it
Like my face on your coat?

As the wind runs above us     I kiss your sweet neck
The trees fill with ghosts        and they join us as leaves
Will we walk in this night      again as if lovers
Will we talk about God?         It gets hard to believe

Can I say this goodbye?
Love can’t know its own end
It’s a bright sunny day
And I miss you, my friend.

© Mark Mordue