Only your face wouldn't dim
In the fluorescent hum of a shop storeroom
I miss you most standing close
The turn of your lips, the hold of your hips
The press of the lids of your eyes
Whisky made weight to close out the light
To my shoes
I feel you down there, dirty, unstable
Like a wine bottle's bruise on a bedside table
Not a lover but better than water
I can whet your mouth with one finger
Trace the lines that find their way under
This skin, these pores, this aching once more