This moment is it – a
precarious stack of fragile
china on the table.
Any second from
now
this too will slip from us
like an
accidental crash –
Your hands
may miss my lap and
land on the table.
This house could melt like
biscuits
in tea or worse,
you'll tilt your head sideways
towards where I'm not there.
If I can cram my words between
my breath
to keep the table steady,
Hold still please
Meet my eyes.
Let me commit your face
to the long arms of memory

© the.misfits