GHAZAL
Outside the front door of a mid-terrace house
wedding photos spill from a split black bag.
In summer, we enjoy a barbecue on the beach
but the sausages dropped on the sand go uneaten.
The next day, despite the hours between us,
my fingers still cling to your faint perfume.
Although I find her number in a charity shop shirt,
I do not phone to see if she was unwanted too.
Despite what Hollywood would have you think,
nobody makes love in slow motion.
Morning – a dried slug curled up on the carpet
brought through the house with last night’s bins.
To feel the sting of aftershave on his freshly-cut jaw,
the felled soldier would kill many, many times more.
wedding photos spill from a split black bag.
In summer, we enjoy a barbecue on the beach
but the sausages dropped on the sand go uneaten.
The next day, despite the hours between us,
my fingers still cling to your faint perfume.
Although I find her number in a charity shop shirt,
I do not phone to see if she was unwanted too.
Despite what Hollywood would have you think,
nobody makes love in slow motion.
Morning – a dried slug curled up on the carpet
brought through the house with last night’s bins.
To feel the sting of aftershave on his freshly-cut jaw,
the felled soldier would kill many, many times more.
Published in That Lone Ship (2018)
Available to buy from Parthian Books
You can read a little about the ghazal form here
Available to buy from Parthian Books
You can read a little about the ghazal form here
