Poetry 'n Prose

Going Home

“Twenty minutes”, the nurse said
“Just put on these headphones and lay [dead] flat”.
they move me
into the centre
of a magnetic universe

beyond the humming,
and the void of one hand clapping
we go spinning away
I reach for your hand,
to hold that wedge
of crimson sky
you always remind me of
just before sunset

my arms wrapped perfectly
around your waist,
kissing your breasts
your loving eyes
penetrating my soul
in places where no radiologist
will ever know

the same nurse’s hand
touches mine,
“its all over, you can go home”.
“its over, really?”
she didn’t know
you are within me,
and I am home,
whenever I call
your name.

By 67paintings

A dialectical site of poetry, painting and the odd musical excursion into the unknown.

4 replies on “Going Home”

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