love, poetry, Uncategorized, women

a day

Love is a series of glorious moments,

punctuated by dry and dull stretches,

Savage peaks of ennui and recrimination

Sometimes they claw and stab

Trying to coax sparks from damp, grey laundry

Moulded into their shapes

 

What if it could

Be condensed

Into one day

Up at dawn, no earlier

Feverish midnight feast

Of one another

 

Breakfast

Again, until they ache

Shovelling food into one another’s mouths

Locked together

A knot which when it tries to pull apart

Draws tighter

 

Until they cannot breathe

With or without one another

 

They awaken

Heads aching and sore

But still rubbing against one another

Slow as glaciers meeting and all things inbetween

Would they collapse

Fighting against it until we’re drunk with exhaustion?

 

Already the last hours

Whip at them

Packing his bag

Leaving evidence of his passing

Pieces of him  chewed off

With blunted teeth.

 

And in the final sweep of the clock

They become ghosts to one another

Places marked by memory

They make maps of the heart

But let him disappear

Into zipless perfection

 

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5 thoughts on “a day

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