Victoria Hamilton

The Wait.

Long minutes and days.
Fingers twitch buttons,
Willing his want through
Wires and ethers.
Like black broken tape,
Hands climb up breast bones
And pale legs entwine.
Thumbs smear wet lips as
Gasps and words linger
In tortured mind’s eye,
And drag every
Second, from each hour.
As hands check pockets
And flick at blank screens,
A need to possess
Rests on my tongue like
The salt of his skin
On warm summer nights.
Still, I know he’s wrong,
Our motive’s misplaced.
Stalled by confessions
And rational thoughts
I let impulses
Lie. And as desires
Stretch over Glasgow’s
Roads and arteries,
My fingers sit still.
Prepared for the wait.

The Wait (Part 2).

Cold sweat on his brow,
Lips brush his forehead,
Pressed with a prayer like
Feet on an Altar.
I’ve waited for him
Through shrunk spirals of
Methyl and seizures,
Those lost weekends where
Calloused fingers climb
Thighs. I’m reserved.
Anaemic eyes hide
Sorrows and light up
Pale skin, a cover
That hides a demon
In him. And as I
Piece him together
Bits keep getting lost.
Sands slide through digits,
Miscounting the cost.
I apply pressure
To wounds and hands to
His heart, grasp pledges
Worn, fraying apart.
But he’s dear to me,
As every pearl in
The sea. So I’ll shield him.
We’ll weather wild storms.
Prepared for the wait.

Copyright © Victoria Hamilton 2014

I am a 29 year old Glaswegian graduate in Celtic and Religious Studies, living and working in the East end of the city


About sunnydunny

Poet, publisher, gardener
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