Sandwiched between the sun and your bed –
hours of yearning wasted in the streets
of my day until we hugged the oversheet,
pulled it tight over our forms, our heads.
In bed we feasted on mussels and bread,
for dessert you used to bring sweets
custom-made for us to eat
each other. But now instead
I dine at my typewriter
or I pace pavements praying that you’ll pay
for my hurt, though it has been nine
years. Not enough time
to forget that I still want to walk under the ray
of your smile, eat with you again in the future.
Luigi Marchini was brought up in London where he spent many a happy maths and physics lesson at the National Film Theatre. Since escaping to Kent some years ago he has had his début pamphlet, The Anatomist, published by The Conversation Paperpress (2009), and been chairman of the Canterbury based Save As Writers’ Group.