Jan 142011

by Hillary Kobernick

After midnight, no one wins arguments.

We just untangle our limbs and roll

to the edge of the bed, our silence

drawing chalk lines of possession.

Your silence hurts more coated

in nightshade. I can feel your bones

growing hungry, digging for sun,

protruding from skin like buds

in false spring. In the morning

my bones will blossom into

kaleidoscope tulip fields. Someday

we will learn to live without photosynthesis.

  One Response to “After Midnight”

  1. I love the first line — it had me hooked, and I was reeled in, entirely satisfied. Rich images. Evocative — atmospheric. Thanks.