Image Source: Unsplash- Ivan Lapyrin
Cradled in the crook
of the lyrics that haunt my bedtimes
both the old and new:
a bundled unit tacky with old glue
trying to destabilise the aging versions
of me and you,
weaving myself amongst the constellations
in the hierarchies of the stars
starting so small yet
dreaming so large.
I reach out a hand in this vast, open trance
of space and unpredictable half-happenstance
with a tablespoon of courage
to dull my deep breathing
to lighter footsteps as I
shepherd every flock of crowd,
wring my hands, chew my lips,
unwound
at the seams
and all at long last in the
desperate attempt to
bring it all back
in the shameless adventure
to twist back time
in the blind hope that
she can, once again, be mine…
In the sliver of a mirror
I hold her gaze with my eyes
and try to trap her in the glass.
This was written by our contributing writer, Aimee Donnell.
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