Poetry by Peter Zelaskowski

You Away From Me

Flocks of images scatter across my drunken sky

Of you away from me

Steel-clawed images

Perched on the tip of my imaginings

Drawing blood

Drawing scenes of you

Away

I can smell you still

Five days gone

On the bed linen

Five days learning to be alone again

Living with the reflexes and routines

Usually peopled by me and you

Now peculiarly empty spaces

Not quite vacated

When the claws grip

They tare right into the bone

These birds have a morbid taste for the festering flesh

A thirst for the saltiest tears

Now, I’m restless to leave this half vacated house

And head west

Into the perfumed orbit of the woman I love

To wrest her back from the claws of my imaginings

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