Time Is Jagged

time is jagged
intricate as ancient lace
hidden and pulsing
beneath skin
and matted hair

The smell of your forehead
your excessively soft cheek
pressed to mine like a blind contour
moving in no particular direction

Please don't leave me
alone
with that low winter light
a soft ache between my rib cage
of negative space and tired epiphany

or that pale Vermeer wall

The moments are careless 

as they rush
to obliterate now
yet they pile up whole

until they are tucked in
ready to hum to 

in the invisible dark