Wednesday, 29 June 2011

Six Weeks

     No ‘and a half’ for us,
and three weeks short,
     the calendar of May and June
a black hole condensed under
our mutual weight, of sweat on skin,
sweet kiss sorties lost in light;

I cannot see from this event horizon
     how time got lost;
proof of it is memorised in balls of clothing,
the plaid bag and vinyl art we made together;
     what charity-shop finds couldn’t fit home,
a robe left behind in a wardrobe.

     Starfished in my bed,
planked on the sofa, thrusting in the kitchen;
here air you have parted, air we have shared,
     and if the glimpses of scent turn inwards,
I will still discern in places our six weeks,
and remember there will be more.

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