By Hermione Byron
The daylight pulled us out of bed by our hair.
We hadn't slept the entire night- just blinked a few times and nodded at the concept of sleep.
We turned the wheel of time with our pearl-shell bodies curving in arches.
We twisted around in one another's arms in a perpetual binding,
like knots of rope unbound in seawater
and tied up again by the hand of a fisherman.
We were but fish,
washed up in a net of bedsheets,
with our mouths open,
expectant of salty kisses and heedless of slippery consequences.
Arising from our restless horizontals,
the day ebbed us along on separate life rings.
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