these long, languorous sunday afternoons.
the neglected spaces existing in time.
the words… and then the silences…
what do they say of us?
and, what of this body… twisted and
whorled into a listless knot?
and, what of the sun… seated with such majesty
on the crest of an unbroken horizon?
and, what of the light… slipped
in between the body’s cracks… and
rested upon the heart… so gildedly?
and, what of our lips when they meet…
melting the words into the backs of our throats?