Runcible Spoon

poetry and prose webzine

Poetry Prose Submissions Contributors Home heart logo Privacy Notice Links Alicia Fernández

Twenty-four Hours


A full rotation of the Earth

on its axis in your company:

skin stroking skin quietly

for the first time

over the beer-soaked wood

of a pub table, while other planets

float in orbit and someone

feeds the cat or gifts a kiss.


Minutes have never before

felt so weightless, passing by

without warning like shooting stars,

turning dusk to dawn and words

to ash and mouth to mouth –

to wake up to the folded hills

of your shoulder blades

and the smell of sleep.


As we walk, the hot iron

of the bridge above us bears graffiti

like proud scars, like the ones

we will inflict on each other

as the Earth continues to spin

on its own axis, delivering

its arsenal of days, fear, future