Saturday, July 16, 2011

an island between.

unfurnished accommodation
a room empty, filled only with contrast
light leading towards narrow slips, an absence thereof
in the dark a candle we make
and only then upon entering shall we see
all but what lay ahead of us, inside us

within a solitary second, a wind should rush in
through the only item we stole, a sheer fabric slung
over a nail held steadfast from hammering
rush in now, why does it not?
we’ve only been breathing, and within each take
a moment, a moment to notice, a moment to detect

a stagnant, long-standing fragrance
one which says, you’ve come here for me
your own notes, hints of jasmine, maybe moss
will soon grow, and soon be
here in this space, we press on with
our ideals, our imperfections

walls will hold in a partnership
we will fail, prosper, fall out, continue, turning into
nothing when dust becomes our bones
and thoughts of how new, of what came before us
push, expanding with humidity
this, our final summer spent, bare amid the shadows