by Tim Taylor
Forgive me; weight of numbers, not my will
imposed this man upon your private space.
My eyes have little choice but rest upon
this woman’s face that fills my whole perception.
I feel I know you: hollow cheeks and lines
too deep for one your age all speak to me
of sleepless nights and proud hopes long eroded
into sand. Upon the breath we share
I taste the sad perfume of love decaying.
I am a part of you; imprisoned, thumbnail
size, I stare back from your fishbowl eyes
that hold without possessing.
At last the train
sets free its captives, flesh recoils and lungs
receive the air denied them for so long.
You leave in haste, but at the door you stop
look back, you realise. We were more close
than lovers. I was in your eyes ..
... and you in mine.
First published in Orbis