by Romain P. A. Delpeuch (March 2023)
Henri’s Armchair, Brett Whiteley, 1974
When distance stopped inflicting pain
and I got used to being lone;
when from your sight I could abstain,
for into dust had turned your throne—
no pedestal, no shrine was left—
without a trace, without a word—
I missed no more, though was bereft
of air and light, and lied unstirred.
A door of flesh that led to life—
I knew yet wouldn’t know—ephemeral
as leaves and trees that soar and strife
and die unknown in silence nemoral,
a wound that pierced the world shut fast,
a scar that healed as sores and wrinkles
began reminding me your past
is lost to me—and future sprinkles.
Romain P. A. Delpeuch is the author of Hypnagogia (Terror House Press, TBA). His poetry and short fiction appear in New English Review, Terror House Magazine, The Ekphrastic Review, Apocalypse Confidential, Ekstasis, D.F.L. Lit, JOURN-E (vol. 1, no. 2), Atop The Cliffs and The Decadent Review.
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