by Debbie Cannon
I spy your shape over, and over again,
recast in forms repeated
in the stubble of bar-smoke, and the shadow-arms of doorways –
the shift of your shoulders under cotton as they turn.
Other men are morphing into you.
I watch them coasting corners,
choosing cinema seats,
twisting fingers around other girls,
tendering their hair.
They’re not developed yet, these nearly-yous,
still damp about the edges.
Look twice, you’ll find them flawed –
a pock-marked cheek, an eyebrow smudged,
wanting the signature of your smile.
I’m afraid one day you’ll look and find me absent,
searching so hard I miss again
the crook of your nose,
the slow, delicate blow of you exhaling smoke.
Debbie is an actor, writer and storyteller, based in Edinburgh. She was one of the Edinburgh City of Literature Storyshop emerging writers at the 2016 Edinburgh International Book Festival. She’ll be performing a one woman show, Green Knight, which She;s also written, at the 2017 Edinburgh Fringe.