For International Poetry Day


Something moves me, something pulls me down.

Your voice, low, aching within me pulls me down,

Your breath so near, you smell so heart achingly pure,

A careless word — my name — brings me back,

Just for a moment, almost… then you are gone

With a dying note hanging in the air, you are gone

Leaving only a too soon fading warmth in my arms

As I hug your coat and hang it on the rack.

Your face — I cannot even see your face,

Though your eyes are warm melting through my tears

— A delicious shudder at your memory,

A shiver deep within when you are near,

And you ignore me…  — No! What a fool I am!

You do not even see me – how could you?

— And if you wanted me I would be lost.

© MMXV  Zoë Elizabeth Butler


About Zoe Nightingale

I am a writer of short stories, novels, poetry and non fiction.
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