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 blind contour
moving in no particular direction

Please don't leave me with that low winter light
a soft ache between my rib cage
full of negative space and tired epiphany
falling across a Vermeer brownstone wall

The moments carelessly rush past
obliterated in the Now yet they pile up whole
until eventually you tuck them in
to hum to in the dark


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