Whispers by Jonathan Butcher

That blade of air slowly slices this room,
and separates us completely. It allows
the blank stares to run free at any table,
no need for us to sit opposite.

The words that bounce from the bottle,
like moths to a light bulb, and fall straight
into our throats. From the pit of our stomachs
they are regurgitated with even less meaning.

So incomplete those final meetings, that allow
us to convince ourselves we are rested without
guilt. The shards of false sentiment marinated
in cheap wine and cobwebs, now just slightly less
repetitive. 

After that last sip, both our faces drop at
the very mention of this repeating. That blade
of air now blunted, and I shuffle towards that
beckoning door, without the risk of permanent
scars.

Jonathan Butcher is a poet based in Sheffield, England. He has had work appear in various print and online publications including: Popshot, Ex-Ex Literature, The Transnational, Sick-Lit, Drunk Monkeys, The Morning Star, Mad Swirl and others. He edits the online poetry journal 'Fixator Press', through which his third chapbook, 'Corroded Gardens' was published.