In a haven of cotton and chiming clocks,
I whisper to you that there will be time
& time again, to talk of our troubles
that hang around like ghosts
in the back of an empty apartment.
You leave empty jars
scattered amongst the books
and unlikely photos that remove you
from the stiffling four walls
you’ve come to call home.
You dream of certain travel
in faraway lands where
they do not speak your tongue,
whilst your own, buzzes and breaks
like electric cables in a summer storm.
I have precisely one thousand questions,
and a hunger to know what haunts
you when you are left to your mind
and it’s scheming devices
but I find the back of your hand
too soft to think of anything but touching.
I taste your lips on the back of my neck,
not knowing whether my body trembles
because of the night’s intruding cold
or rather that I am anxious
for this velvet moment to last,
having never felt such tender thoughts
Your emerald eyes scream urgency,
and I whisper to you that there will be time
& time again to talk of our troubles