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Róisín Mulliez Jun 2018
Buttery sunlight melts onto the quilt
and glares harshly on our skin.
You’ve fallen into a trance.
Dainty hands with sparkling ring, clutching the quilt
as you dose off under the sweltering heat.
The scintillae of light dazzle me.

Burning cheek and squinting eyes.
Illuminated arm hairs and dust particles.
Long finger shadows.
Sizzling pan in the kitchen, clang of cups, a cough and mutter.

How does sunlight feel?
Melancholy.
The stuff of fond memories.

Is it all behind us now?



Róisín Mulliez

— The End —