John Gladwell
A Hazardous Guess
Both arrived at this point from another, yes,
but having arrived no longer able to do any more than just smile,
a hazardous guess that whatever arrives will always be true, in this
room,
in this flat, on the edge of this sea, where words on their own will
never be enough,
where the borders of your lips now close upon mine and where,
taking your
clothes off you ask. ‘And at what point in the night does the traffic
stop?’
Your hands clawing at sheets, at a red rose in a blue vase, cracked,
its water leaking, that red rose wilting, its petals falling,
its thorns now catching my thumb.
Red blood now on the side of that blue vase, like your smile,
like the ‘no’ of disappointment every time I pull away,
like your heart now filled with all that’s left of hope,
of this sudden imperfection of my mouth as it presses yours closed,
asking again what consecration means, yet expecting no answers,
only these remnants of disbelief, old habits dying hard here,
where I thought I loved you, until I saw that photograph,
tucked into the mirror’s side, of you,
wearing a smile I had never seen before.
but having arrived no longer able to do any more than just smile,
a hazardous guess that whatever arrives will always be true, in this
room,
in this flat, on the edge of this sea, where words on their own will
never be enough,
where the borders of your lips now close upon mine and where,
taking your
clothes off you ask. ‘And at what point in the night does the traffic
stop?’
Your hands clawing at sheets, at a red rose in a blue vase, cracked,
its water leaking, that red rose wilting, its petals falling,
its thorns now catching my thumb.
Red blood now on the side of that blue vase, like your smile,
like the ‘no’ of disappointment every time I pull away,
like your heart now filled with all that’s left of hope,
of this sudden imperfection of my mouth as it presses yours closed,
asking again what consecration means, yet expecting no answers,
only these remnants of disbelief, old habits dying hard here,
where I thought I loved you, until I saw that photograph,
tucked into the mirror’s side, of you,
wearing a smile I had never seen before.
Page(s) 99
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