A coin and a clock

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Image courtesy of: JR Korpa

It’s opposite day,
and I hate those piercing eyes –
all sharpened storm clouds
soaking up soft lighting rods
as if rules did not matter here,
only you and I. Roofed under
rewinding time, spooling moments
tangle but do not tame our desire to
pull a little more breath out of each
other, we, are the disobedient children
of the night. Forgetting what was yours
and what will be mine, listen, as water
breaks outside. We are safe here,
I assure you, before I look to the skies,
send my silent prayer for this phantom
pain in chest to subside.

Meanwhile wake is swallowing sleep as
we try to overlay reality with delirious
dreams, hold them up against the
artificial light, bask in this moment
even if it means missing another
sunrise. We prefer to trace shadows
into collarbones, fill in the blanks with
comfortable, copper existence. Wonder
if you can hear me smile? As minute
spills into hour, our searching hands
briefly synchronise. Call it fate or two faces
of a coin I don’t want to make heads
or tails out of, feel it spin across stomach,
tongue and mind until I forget how to lie,
but here beside you.

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