<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
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Clash<\/strong><\/p>\n On nights like this May air strokes skin Bodies agile against the newly knit moon, They sway, dip, turn to face, grasp for glances A procession of feet like a Cartographer\u2019s pen. Leaving only the drunken float and stumble; <\/p>\n <\/p>\n <\/p>\n <\/p>\n <\/p>\n <\/p>\n <\/p>\n Jamel Hall<\/strong> is a writer, art curator, event organizer and freelance everything else living and working in Kingston, Jamaica. His poetry focuses on the small, complex and common stories that make up human existence.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n <\/p>\n <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" Clash On nights like this May air strokes skin like lazy fingertips, familiar sounds nonchalantly step through speaker boxes; his voice rough and unsteady hangs comfortably in her air. She remembers she has a husband. Bodies agile against the newly knit moon, his hands become pillars, supporting her slightly inebriated frame. She […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":4,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_et_pb_use_builder":"","_et_pb_old_content":"","_et_gb_content_width":"","footnotes":""},"categories":[7],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-17235","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-prose-poetry"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/17235","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/4"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=17235"}],"version-history":[{"count":2,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/17235\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":17562,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/17235\/revisions\/17562"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=17235"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=17235"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=17235"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}
\nlike lazy fingertips, familiar sounds
\nnonchalantly step through speaker boxes;
\nhis voice rough and unsteady hangs comfortably
\nin her air. She remembers she has a husband.<\/p>\n
\nhis hands become pillars, supporting her slightly
\ninebriated frame. She remembers she has a lover.<\/p>\n
\nand hurt. Consuming the hours before the tempo
\ntumbles and language begins to falter;
\nbodies flustering accents in the silence.<\/p>\n
\nEmpty bottles hum songs to coax the morning.
\nTheir embrace, a wistful glance, a heavy sigh,
\ncome \u2013a\u2013 part.<\/p>\n
\nthe beginning, of the short journey home.<\/p>\n