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Tom McCone Aug 2015
sometimes unsure just where the
            world spun: sharpness of
                    hour's turn, cardinal
direction. we found footsteps on
coasts, in leaf-litter, amongst
carpet fibre. our collective history
       in flecks; discretised, normal.
ain't so strange, windowlit dust's
      width your warmth felt, even
at metric distance. we were once
but a single heartbeat across:
    wavelet, hangin' in the wash.

   i want to fall asleep in
covers of snow, you and i
as tangled pile of bones. i want
our echoes intertwined in all
great halls. or
just
   one
          slow morning,
                       fog or no fog.

                                                       the world will spin under dark blankets
                                                             for all of our evers, at least. tumble n
                                                                                                                      fade.
miss you (often)

"and for a change in thought,
i look up at the moon
and don't quite know what i see"

— The End —