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. Fritzware.com/johntustinpoetry contains links to his published poetry online.
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