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Image by Caesar Aldhela


the madrigal, volume iv

I need to give up

by d.w. evans

The plexus settles and you move onto sleep.
Fatigue shushes: surf over shingle,
true in Hollywood. True now
You turn. I follow.

First snore; I slip the spoon
flaying bedroom darkness
for a bedside packet.
Cigarettes spill,
a wine glass upturned, mostly empty.

Oblivious to my clatter
and cloud making,
your body splashes
in the shallows of sleep.

An arm stirs, a foot flicks,
a sharp breath bites at air -
muted actions, tame commitment.
A dream of what? Nightmare,

I look away onto half formed furnishings.
A slice of streetlight
divides floor and wall, cutting
across my naked thigh.

I sigh out a stream.
Blue smoke romances the light beam -
an effect
I like more than the cigarette.

Folding back into bed,
you murmur a little, not waking.
A touch reassures.
I keep tight hold,
but you fall all the same.

DW Evans lives in St Martin, Jersey. He has won the Alan Jones Prize (2019 & 2021), been shortlisted for Ó Bhéal’s Five Words (2020 & 2021) and the Wells Open Poetry Competition 2021, highly commended by Acumen (2020 competition), Segora (2021) StoryTown Corsham (2022). His poems have appeared in various publications including Frogmore Papers, One Hand Clapping, Proverse, Acumen, The Honest Ulsterman, Epoch, A3 Review, Madrigal and Dreich.

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