till sunrise

by ty

was it the blade of
honey between our          fingers,
lapsed amongst soft
cuts and thin
sleeves

that             swept us up like
a circular refrain, knuckles clashing
against the            constant
backdrop of

irregular typefaces,
dried tea
                leaves,
bated breaths?

see, they say people can hear
you if you think of them
hard enough, even if
they’re seven
hours, two
tiles

one thought away

and so i repeat

is this it?

Advertisements