A Poem for No-One

you come to me with the voice of a debt collector
an unperceivable hum like shaved glass
a fatherly caress of the head

my days are full of daunting moments like these
stretching out as far as the eyes can see
i want them gone in the flash of teenage afternoons

your pale bare skin untroubled by the sun
the breath-stealing electricity of your hip
your hairs the subtle caress of spun silk

it comes to me now, too late to matter: i have spent
ten futile years chasing your liquefying ghost
across these crumpled sheets of bacofoil

Tony O' Neill