Till Sunrise

photo credits here, edited.

by tyrina toh

was it the blade of
honey between our       fingers,
lapsed amongst soft
cuts and thin

that          swept us up like
a circular refrain, knuckles clashing
against the         constant
backdrop of

irregular typefaces,
dried tea

bated breaths?

see, they say people can hear
you if you think of them
hard enough, even if
they’re seven
hours, two

one thought away

and so i repeat

is this it?

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