The lovers are taking it slow. They are drawing out

the days of nothingness, making them last.
Who will be the first to go? Who dares to answer

such questions? The lovers in church are praying
only for each other. They are tracing the edge

of the shore with their footprints. What have they
done that they have not yet been forgiven for?

There is still time to replace the curtains, 
to oil the gate so it may close again without

crying. Now is the moment. The lovers know this 
as they head home now, evening drawing

their bodies closer, slowing their steps 
at a momentous pace, as words fold away

into the spaces even memory cannot reach.