5am.

Now:

We curl, we twist wearily
snakes coiling around one another
leaving no space, only closeness.
Like twin foetuses in the womb of this hotel.
We are the centre piece on these ivory sheets
crisp, unruffled sheets -
we have stayed this way
through each change in the binary code
of the alarm clock
that faces the opposite direction.
What is time?

Silver light squeezes in through cracked blinds
pushed
by the balmy air.
it begins to pour, and we are coated,
enveloped by the beam.

Chipped nail polish,
sparkle long gone.
The colour drains from us, too.
he is unshaven, we are uncaring.
it is only us.
Only.

We hold hands like children -
white knuckles, blue thumbs,
clinging.

It will be ok.

Traffic squeals and hums and
beeps.                      People are laughing.
Take-away food trays scrape kerbs
owl heads turn, and turn,
insomniac city.
Our door reads
PLEASE DO NOT DISTURB.
Please.
We talk in whispers, the strain
giving our words beauty – they are graceful.
We are grace.

Before:

Unmoving, we planned picnics:
our blanket woven like us,
and glittering raspberries staining our cheeks.
We
created shapes in traffic light beams -
candy colours in spackles,
and a million tiny hearts crafted
by the shadows of our hands.

Fighting off sleep to stay in that
moment.
The moment, fragile like a balloon
when sleep is a threatening house of pins.
Gentle notes of Brahms’s lullaby floated
around the room that had become ours,
caressing our ears.

The carpet was freckled with white:
fluffy snow?
No. Scattered dying dandelions;
We did not need them.
What was there to wish for?

Now:

Our radiator is defective,
shining, cold.
We try to be a human one,
          radiating.
Our tears meet each other
meandering down our bodies
heavy and hot.
We are separate currents in one ocean.
Our ocean is crashing
                                      crashing.
We try to see.
We try to breathe.

- 2011