Binding

What binds us,

is not

 

blood & bone & tears

 

it’s not, a golden ring

or common history

 

it isn’t pitter pat

of children’s feet:

 

what binds us is

stardust lost between

 

the mystery of sleep

the bright awakening.

 

A hand upon a cheek

 

a whispered prayer

your ankle touching me.

 

It can’t be stored

for future gain

 

or dusted down

& packed away.

 

What binds us is this

moment

 

lost between

 

the echo of the owl

night rain on shutters

 

a drowsy glance

your face in sleep:

 

& lest I settle for another,

a love less deep

 

what binds us here

as lovers

 

we cannot grasp

& keep

 

it is settled in the

chambers of my heart

 

it beats its own

sweet beat

 

that Universe

remembers.

 

 

 

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