distant limbs
of absentee lovers
embrace the spaces
minutes expand
discarded sighs meet
and pass in vacant vaults
moth-white whispers
of dreams so deep asleep
they drift in shallows
among clefts of night
where fingers linger
and spread the hours
of unwaking waiting
longings scatter skies
and lights that have died
burn cool to the touch
of remembered skin
flesh-held impressions
where rapt hands
once kissed navelled bliss
the bygone glow
of tangling torsos
casts echoes of heat
wider than desire
farther than fingers
can reach

© Sarah Whiteley

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4 thoughts on “

  1. desire is always coming
    commingling with the sea
    in us all
    the frothing waves
    that sweep
    us further into the future
    than our past limits our desire
    is always coming

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