casting sparks

I said “I love you” that first time
at 2 a.m., both of us standing
mostly skin in your kitchen –
foreheads pressed together as if to
discern the truth of one another,

the beat of it so wildly turning
I can still feel the flutter
(from rib to throat to crown)
rise and curl like windblown smoke
from an August bonfire casting sparks
against the impenetrable dark

© Sarah Whiteley

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8 thoughts on “casting sparks

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