‘the needs that will sustain’

their booth sits empty
cold like a confession box
they couldn’t summon their words
nary even a look

hearts grown weary
aching and arrhythmic
passing in empty corridors
like ships on a black sea

torture surrounds them
pulling them apart
extraction from one another’s arms
where their safety is to be found

they must turn to face each other
arms and hearts held open
acceptance and attendance
to the needs that will sustain

 

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