The Stigmata Of Your Touch Poem by Dónall Dempsey

The Stigmata Of Your Touch

Rating: 2.3


Clutching at straws
I clutch at your blouse

hold my pillow
closer to me

pretend its you

mould the duvet
into something

reassembling you.

But it’s
not you.

I suffer
your absence

aching

at the intersections
of our bodies

as we sleep

my thigh across your thigh
my hand upon your breast.

My flesh
screaming for your flesh

as if your absence
burns

enduring
like a saint

the stigmata
of your touch.

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Dónall Dempsey

Dónall Dempsey

Curragh Camp, Co. Kildare, Eire.
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