you watch me fading

sweetly from the

cliff side of our bed like

I always do when the rain

knocks gently on our door

and washes my bones so that I

can fold as small as every

love note you leave on my pillow,

praying words will be enough

to lift me from my grave,

water my hollow insides,

maybe glance outside and catch

my sunken face in the window


but I am spending ages trying

to remember how your mouth

feels as I am struggling

to open mine long enough to

wet my tongue and remind you

that even from here I have the best

view of just how lovely you are


Filed under Writing

12 responses to “sightlines

  1. I love this. Bones, face, mouth, and tongue…all lovely truths.

  2. Meg

    Those last two lines are so heartbreakingly tender.

  3. I like how you played with scale – the cliff side of our bed, as small as every love note. I get a definite sense of the narrator lifting up from a depression and being able to interact with a loved one again.

  4. Beautiful. I love the comparison of the edge of the bed to a cliff side; it can feel just as hard to climb over one cliff as the other.

  5. Oh oh! “the cliff side of our bed” — a perfect description of that dizzying precipice. The way you deploy words is so seductive, Nicole.

  6. This is lovely and has a wonderful rhythm to it, especially unencumbered by punctuation and capitals. That, when done right, always gets me. Reminds me of some poetry I read long ago by a now-forgotten poet.

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