The way you hoard mugs:
keep dregs for days
on half-drained, brimming surface space;
leave perfect rings on polished wood.
Or, how sleeping,
we lie cupped, tipped
hip to hip
in soft creased napkin folds.
How, pulse to pulse,
your pressed lips brush,
take warm sweet sips
in cooling heat, leave prints.
So like your unwashed cups
(heaped, held shoulder-high)
is how I gather, careful-clasped,
your thrown-on shirt,
your pale cool cheek,
its sunlit stubbled auburn shock:
how, piece by piece, half-dropped, at ease,
I stack collected, still, scraped clean.
Emily Blewitt, Cardiff, Wales
1 comment:
Emily Blewitt is 23 years old and originally from a sleepy seaside town in South Wales. She studied English Literature and Language at Oxford, and Film and Literature at York. She has participated in poetry workshops run by Saskia Hamilton, and was recently published in Pomegranate. Emily now lives in Cardiff Bay with her muse, Nathan, and likes to watch the local fishermen unceremoniously ignore the ‘Dim Pysgota/No Fishing’ signs.
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