[18 September 2019]
You lean back – warm
water and cold air and strong shoulders and the east
Atlantic. Time must work that way,
too – a long string of desires
and fears and letters waiting to be
sent. They stack up like old books
or coffee cups, building a blockade
between sense and longing, while
the numbers on the clock rise and fall
and the days move ever on. How long
before I can see as me clearly as
I see you?
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