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 … Continue reading out of time

that I was I

that I was I and you were you and want being what it is - shortening the shortest distance between two selves - with the brevity of "yes" we were quite suddenly we and with nothing but combustion in between © Sarah Whiteley


I have been gone too long from here from lulling grasses rustling keen kisses at the magnolia's feet, white petals bruised to scent, sharp and sudden as the flap of a finch flushed from beneath the boxwood the watchful eye of a sentinel moon rises low and hangs heavy between black branches our absence has … Continue reading returning


if I could fold wings for words of red-petaled poppies and affix them gently with a pin I would launch a fleet of these to flit and twit as sparrows and settle in your trees and whispering arrange themselves so that waking you will see poppy-winged my heart spell out the love that sleeps in … Continue reading poppy-winged


this space which you have never inhabited holds you all the same contains all the silent disquiet of your absence and the un-echoing never of where you do not stand the unwary word remains and carries your voice just as if just as if I dwell within that shade of you here where elsewhere is … Continue reading elsewhere


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 … Continue reading aftermath

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 … Continue reading