by Marni Appleton

 

We stop            to look at the sky
so black we lose ourselves
for a minute.

I haven’t seen anything
quite like it.         Our hands
are locked

but when I look for you            across
the infinite dark of the car
I see only stars.

Air, so clean          it
catches my throat like
glass

Our breath in ghostly billows
sharp white             against
black.

I think I see us           on the other
side of the world,
under water

reflected in the distant constellations,
the ellipsis              above.

But then you speak and
I know this time               this time

it is over.



Marni Appleton | @marniapple

Marni is a writer of all things – though primarily fiction, theatre criticism and poetry. She has recently completed her first novel, Walls.

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