Trapped

Trapped

The clock stopped
time has fermented
the hands hang down
like te beak of a magpie
that woke us early
pecking on the pane
as if trying to crack the glass
as if trying to crack time
so it would always be today
and seagulls rained on the sand
tearing away from the traps of aphasia
from the poison dripping down her lips
numbing her tongue.

I’ve been her lover in dreams we inhabited
inside a cloudy glimpse of madness
where time is not one
without the waiting.

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