The Ceiling Pipe [Poetry]

This is a poem by John Tustin.

Staring up at the ceiling pipe

In the dark of the dark of the dark

Lying in the heat of myself and the blankets

That we have shared

Dizzy like I’m drunk

And singing songs to myself

With these visions of this afternoon 

Like flip cards before my eyes

Kick the blankets off

Then wrap myself back up

This bed is useless for sleeping

Without your body beside me

I thread my hands through my hair

But it’s not the same as you

How your smile just eats me up

How your eyes dissolve the melancholy

Of nights staring up

In the blues of Friday’s solitude

Withering in this closed space

With the ceiling pipe my company, my audience

This morning this bed is for sleeping in

This morning this bed is for pining in

Remembering your face flush with our ecstasy

And my heart dancing too fast to your music

As I loved you 

As you loved me

Our bodies attached

At the hands at the organs at the dancing heart

John Tustin began writing poetry again dozen years ago and his poetry has appeared in many disparate literary journals, online and in print. contains links to his published poetry online.


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