Together at last, a circle of inconspicuous trust
Leaves me here at the very foot of want.
On the bed the pillows are fat.
A mounting wave of quiet.
Here the torments are less so.
Incongruent as the eye-mote,
What is this improper carbon copy of my thoughts?
Even without a word, we lie together alone,
The blackness doesn't touch us in lamplight,
That night burns its bishops alive,
It lights us now – scantily clad,
Half-drunk on nothing,
Half-touching – perhaps one of us will never speak.
I wrote this recently after reading my favourite book of poems again, Sylvia Plath's The Colossus. I read it when I was studying my undergrad in around 2007/08. It's about being with no one but my thoughts.
I met Lee Evans in Liverpool, doing a book signing.