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