rosivan
narrow edges of light in the summer sun
prints on the frost, noses and whiskers
don't close the curtains, let that sunshine in
sharp patterns cut in crowds
black sticks, black belts, blackened eyes
turning the tide of the ocean
beating back the sea
pouring away the rain in a drought
dark scraping brushing over
waxy transparent paper
afterimages and shades
the slight jutting of engravings
the depressions of age
tips of mountain tops
corners of your eyes
redheads in denim shorts
and the mornings on foggy isles
wide edges of water spray
and sharp turns cut across a glittering lake
the zig zag of predictability, the stuttering slop of control
vague ink smudges on coral-coloured satin
my breath against your ear, echoing
shells and caskets, casings discarded
secret messages inside bottles for you to find
make myself paper-thin, weightless
transparent and fading in the light
be still, quiet, soft as the edges
of sunshine filtered through the
lace and frayed curtain edges
crackling under the press of my fingers
two snaps through the air
pieces of an evergreen, fallen
branches of pine needles in the morning air
the time it takes from me to you
is the echo of my thoughts of love
rattling in the cage of my chest
and spat out with urgency
that makes me grab for the words you give
the laughter and startle of a call
the space of a moment over borders
twenty days my heart beats quiet under the skin i've been branded
holding close the promise of you coming to stroke it alive
another winter come and passes empty arms and eyes
twenty days
twenty days
twenty days
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