from a bench, late and unfinished – but here

catch me slipping through the cantankerous nights when i stray too far from the regulations we regard

senses slip off our tongues and join in a magnetic hum of where we can drift in times of torture tangled webs and butcher knife forgetfulness

i remember the way you taste

the echo of your heels hitting the hardwood floor we toiled to step upon when heralding a different saint would have been easier

i can’t escape the memory of how your breath, with the day’s work, walked into my space and brought comfort

your choice of dressing dancing before your lips had time to meet mine

a candlelit denial of moments we couldn’t be anywhere else.

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