The evidence of you,
Is written all across my bones,
Etched deep inside with sharp-edged flint,
And it aches when my breath goes cold.
There’s a chip in my bedroom paint,
Where your picture tacked to the wall,
And tea stains on my crinkled sheets,
From breakfast way past afternoon.
I catch you in a strangers scent,
On the street or deep in the tube,
Smother a breath inside my chest,
I’m endlessly in want of you.