out of time

we were, for a time,
each other’s clocks –
the tick-ticking of
our fingers apart,
counting the breaths
before between until –
until

2 AM yearning strikes,
hungry as bells on Sunday –
and we unwind, reset,
sweep the seconds
from our faces,
cheeks to shoulders
for a minute

how I swallowed
every moment,
even the ones

empty

of

you,

and sired a void
within the void

© Sarah Whiteley

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