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
it can't be followed like blind contour
in any direction at all

Least of all that low golden blue winter light
a soft ache between my rib cage
full of negative space and epiphany
on a Vermeer filtered brownstone wall

The moments carelessly rush past
until they pile up
and you tuck them in
to hum to in the dark

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