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Walking Away

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I walk along the path 
leading away from your stoop
hoping you catch up with me
before I get out of sight

My boots begin to soften so
I know I have been walking
for too long, up against the channel
water soaking through my laces.

I hear a game of Cricket
sounding above the smashing
surf and men in white circle
the green behind the dunes

I sit down roughly, splayed,
having walked from Kent across
tracks and through fields of Hops
thirsty for a pint of ale to forget.

I wait there and then feel the
alien elusive english sun touch
my neck but it is she who teases
the nape of my neck. Not you.

She rubs my neck with strong
tender fingers. She takes my
shirt off my chest and washes 
the fabric in the waves.

She feeds me water and pulls 
me to the shade, keeping my
lips wet and my mind off of you
the best she can. I weep for you.

You don't come up to me, even with
excuses, and try to wash my reddened
neck, cooling the flesh with brine.
She sits beside me fully aware of you.

©1995 Chris Abraham