a flour minute

take me to the ends of this earth

and in just one glance i’ll swim double the distance

you can make origami from the skin i pinch when i think no one’s looking

but handle me carefully.

i am warm laundry, soft pastry in your hands and a touch can become heavy kneading

heavy breathing

hyperventilating

your shoulders are shaking

the room is reverberating

and at night you try to stifle your cries

thinking no one is listening,

you’re okay.

i want to be more than just a scattering of flour on your fingertips.

i am not easily brushed off.

i am open

and you were honest

but your eyes flit around this crowded room

and they only rest when they meet mine

are they lying?

are your nervous hands just a pretence

a theatrical shaking to undermine your brash confidence

or are they the pathway to the truth

the slither of a cold moon

you count the stars when you think nobody is looking

but i see you.

your head bowed every night

your eyes screwed tight

but your smile lingers here

i see the air whisper your name

and i can taste the sound of your footsteps even with my eyes closed

but the mirror above the wall

its cracks are fading now

and while the clock is ticking

the hands are not moving.

time is passing at the speed of light

yet also fleeting,

frozen.

tell me,

the words we whisper at the dead of night

do they make a sound if no one is listening?

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