un-sing the days
take away
take away brushes
of fingertips
drawn together
by their own
private gravity
uncircle, unwind,
untwine the limbs
in longing fused
that heat’s
long used
and grown cold
without the friction
of a once fond other
disparate nights
and mismatched
patches of days
pry the minutes
of our moments
slowly apart
un-sing the ways
take back,
take back the lips
that ground me
and the hands
that confound me
those skies
have died
in a rush of gray
a blaze of dismay
here is the crater
where love resides

© Sarah Whiteley


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