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Simon J. Charlton

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Over Cooling Tea We Waited On the Dawn

Over cooling tea we waited on the dawn
The dissipating steam a zone of ephemeral neutrality between us
Rain lay soft hands across the window
The wind’s insistent whisper telling us nothing
That we did not already know
Last night’s supper still hung on the air
A collision of scents
A confusion of tastes
An opposition of desires
Dishes were crash-landed in the sink
Where the water held a skin of grease
Like the first gathering of scar tissue across a self-inflicted wound
Smeared sickly orange by a streetlamp’s alien glow
Two empty wine bottles on the table
One red, one white – was ever anything more obvious?
A rubble of cigarette ends overflowing the ashtray
And a letter crumpled illegible yet still absolute to the shape of your fist
The clock’s awful signature shifting us unwilling into the day
Increments of time, glacial, unyielding
Tongues wrapped firmly around the false comfort of silence
Each challenge, each denial, mutely articulate
There was nothing more to say
And we were finding all the ways in which to say it

 

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