Poem in Which An Alarm Is Set

No time is too good
for my alarm no poem
too good for frames
of hours & minutes
at least
……….but you hate my
immediate verse
……….so we clock
off at 7:48 tonight when I have to get
a train out of here

Lying in bed awake
before a 6am beep
you ask me how
regimentation belongs
in the bedroom outside
gimp masks & safe words
& I tell you I love
the finitude of your shoulders
when you are turned away
& the slender fine line spine
which will change in time
……….that it’s the disorder
of feeling up against your body
that I need to block into moments
& memories

I could take a photograph of
everything you do on instagram
to age it automatically before we
get older together ourselves
……….or repeat the awkward-arm
selfie in bed of an accidental captured
elbow & us two crushed together
under the eye of the lens
just to remember this as it is & happy

this will never be
the poem in which history
is accounted for & changed
around the electric tolling
of a slow rousing Samsung Galaxy
……….had we but world, enough and time
& I were Marvell & not
already in your pants
I’d make a point of the snatched intimacies
of difficult temporalities
……….but you’d call me a wanker
……….& you’d be right

I cannot understand love
outside of a line & I do not want
to lose days or years
under you around you or over
so these alarms remind me
of endings……….that as things pass
& are counted
or work against us
you remain intact
& with me
hesitantly……….always

Prudence Chamberlain

 

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