in hurried minutes i am caught up in searching for words that get lost at the back of my throat, but more and more i am forgetting about the words that i can’t find in black and white or under my eyelids.
there are weeks inside days, months inside evenings. my heart hangs from the ceiling like a dusty chandelier that flickers and fades and flickers and fades . i’m distracted by the sound of cutlery on porcelain and oblivious to the kitten claws batting at my fingers. a faded uncertainty as to why i slip into familiar without knowing where i am and the way my knees search for yours under the table.
i fumble with splinters of the past, a kind of applause muffled with the heartbeat on my windscreen. in my most bruised moments i sat on the sidelines of your descent with my jaw tight and my mind flicking past like pages.
these curbside whispers are becoming more difficult to decipher. i can’t see the corners of your mouth in the blue-blackness of this wash over you and me. you can’t see the way i walk on tiptoe on the edge of the concrete, as if i’m balancing on the tension.
