Needling

I am the needle
trying to trace the cracks
in your skin like vinyl as you
spin
spin
spin
away from me,
as our songs always skip
too quickly towards static
stillness.
My heart skipping beats
at forty-five revolutions
per minute,
and you will not hear it.

End of the record.
Separation
Your last few rotations
and all is silent.
This is the absence of anything –
of everything,
at which point all is nothing.

So lie with me here.

Chichester, March 2017

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