You
Tonight, the sky sags, heavy with stars,
and the wind has a cough,
but I need a breeze,
though the winter frost
has sandpapered my knuckles. Cracked,
they look tough and dry
as elephant hide and dangle,
hesitant above the keys.
Fingers slowly flex out the frost
like a spider, dying. I loved you
like hell. Ah, and there it is-
the brain, beer-battered,
swimming in cliché:
the moon is at the window.
The stars freckle your cheeks.
Beyond, the river jumps
with singing salmon.
And I could’ve sworn
I brought you mountains
wrapped in bows.
But we built our love
on concrete, with cement mix kisses
and scaffolding, skirting round a building
that will never fall,
but will never be finished. I loved you, truly,
as Neruda would have loved you,
and even he would’ve tipped his dusty heart
up like an old box in an attic and searched
through the empty frames,
imagining things.
Richard Law is a writer, poet, and blogger living in London. Since graduating from UEA in 2013 with a BA English Literature With Creative Writing, he has worked in the Logistics and Financial industries, but will be returning to UEA in 2016 to study the MA in Poetry.