Noel Williams
On the Edge of Something
To themselves they are slow motion
as their foreheads touch, to make heartshapes
between them. Their fingers bond
as fronds in underwater beds
vexed by Brownian warmth.
She is upon her toes to wedge
whispers on the ledge of his ear.
He leans into her
so, whilst her one hand fends,
the other draws him down.
Page(s) 105
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