Tuesday, January 31, 2017

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
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
obliterated now
yet they pile up whole

until eventually you tuck them in
to hum to in the dark