Displaced

I still feel you
in
intimate spaces
haloed reminders
of
body temperature embraces
your skin
papered over mine
the translucency
of flesh
failing to disguise
our
fault lines

Pocketed

Searching for signs of him
in his jacket pocket
I found
a lighter
skins
weed crumble trailing the seam
credit card (stolen)
£5 in shrapnel
stray tobacco strands
and in the deepest recess
his hand
rough
but receptive
to mine

Creep

He used to call around 9
burst through the door
high
then creep away in the early hours
leaving me feeling
low