Adrian Slatcher writes poetry, fiction and criticism, and lives in Manchester.
The sound of your voice and the sight of your departing,
The nape of your neck, and the way your hair falls –
Did I not make clear how much I admired you?
Without history of such, how might we be starting
Out on a journey without being mistaken.
For you’ve already passed by so many places
Without me present, so how might I compare
As a guide to that journey you’ve already taken?
The whispering nothings, the sound of your breathing,
And is it only lovers who notice these changes?
For though others may stay in my life for longer,
My heart only thumps when I know you are leaving.
If I once took for granted I now know what’s missing,
The space in the room, cold air I am kissing.
I wrote this a few years ago, as part of a sequence, but it was the only sonnet, and I found it again recently, and realised I quite liked it. So, as it’s Valentine’s Day this week, and the Guardian’s asking writers for their favourite love poems, here’s one I wrote earlier. Its not been published anywhere.