limina
the last quiver of dusk or the first sigh of dawn your eyes on me from across the room a trick of the light
the pull when it’s right the nudge when it’s not a slight of hand
the way the sun or a good lover’s touch warms the thighs a false kind of gentle
sometimes the tongue slips, no, presses on syllables like how you said I want you, when I was dying to hear I want you
we have reached the tipping point from ache to break
all this time, my heart we’ve been fumbling for the space between lightning and thunder
as if they’re not one in the same
- Cora Finch















