You and I kissed
and the arch
of the bridge covered us
like applause.

Mouth to mouth,
we cocooned ourselves
in each other. We kissed,
then suddenly your voice

soared high;
high above the terraced houses
of our youth; high above
the factories.

Yours was a strange voice.
It sounded like someone
holding their breath,
or someone drowning.

Michael McGill is a UK-based poet from Edinburgh, Scotland, who has recently had work published in Rock & Sling, Funhouse Magazine, New Walk, Northwords Now, Obsessed with Pipework, The Haiku Quarterly and Ink Sweat & Tears.

This entry was posted in Poetry and tagged . Bookmark the permalink.

2 Responses to Drowning

  1. Hannah Stone says:

    Lovely poem. Great imagery.

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