poems

Fortune Cookie

Fortune Cookie.

20/05/2017

It wasn’t Christmas day. It was some other random day, an unimportant one. Yet a day when I was reminded of that Christmas together.

The one where she lay on me for years and watched a wonderful life.

There was spiced rum in small doses from her lips and later rhythmatic motion from our hips.

I could still imagine the salt as I sipped my beer at some restaurant I was in exactly twelve years ago.

The glass glistened in the yellow light like sweat sliding down a narrow neck and I missed her.

Like her my food had been and gone.

I had an empty plate, my beer and a fortune cookie to show for my money.

©G.P Williamson 2017

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