September, 2022, by Oliver Cuenca

Tactile tablecloth

Clung to the flimsy

café table top

Like a trauma; 


so warm –

Like the skin

Of some familiar

Relative, long gone.

The sunlight now drained,

The heat remains in

you; And yet –

Cut off.

That warmth goes up with the wind.


Published 12th of February 2024


About Oliver Cuenca

Oliver Cuenca lives with his partner in Bristol, UK, where he works as a journalist to keep the lights on. In his free time, he writes poems. His favourite theme is the relationship between mundane, everyday objects and specific, often difficult memories and experiences.