Tara Teeling Poems
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His Side Of The Bed
How strange it is to wake in a foreign land,
To try to spy the sameness here, as it was there.
Suddenly, nothing feels close, nothing in my acquaintance.
I look around and see things that should be familiar to me.
On that side of the bed, is a pillow of cream and eyelet.
Propped up long ago, it sits, without interference,
Plumped and perfect, wrinkle free under the lofty covers.
Recall him lying there, whilst I lay on my side.
Remember now the gentle breathing as the sun woke,
I think of how the rhythm would change during the night.
I used to sleep ...
Eve On A Tabletop
I’m a queen and a dream. I move
in grinding glitter and wanton sighs,
fluent in guttural growl.
My colour is green, and I’m a Scorpio
in fishnets, a Venus in mesh.
I don’t think about the women
who would hiss and spit on my
feet in passing. They trip