<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Crossing Points: The Last Hour<\/strong><\/p>\n It\u2019s late, and he\u2019s watching. He spends an hour sitting Stay in the shadow by the wall Someone brings water You will see it in his face <\/p>\n <\/p>\n <\/p>\n Born in Australia, Diane Mulholland<\/strong> now lives in London, where she can often be found beside the Thames. Her work has appeared in journals including Under the Radar<\/i> and The Tangerine<\/i>, and she recently completed an MA in Creative Writing at Manchester Metropolitan University.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" Crossing Points: The Last Hour It\u2019s late, and he\u2019s watching. Each rise of her chest is less tangible than a prayer. Now and then he presses an ear to her lips, his own breath held close. He spends an hour sitting with her eggshell hand curled into his own, then another with fingertips […]<\/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-18851","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-prose-poetry"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/18851","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=18851"}],"version-history":[{"count":2,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/18851\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":18853,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/18851\/revisions\/18853"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=18851"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=18851"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=18851"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}
\nEach rise of her chest
\nis less tangible than a prayer.
\nNow and then he presses
\nan ear to her lips,
\nhis own breath held close.<\/p>\n
\nwith her eggshell hand
\ncurled into his own,
\nthen another
\nwith fingertips feathered
\ninto the hair at her cheek.<\/p>\n
\noutside their pool of light.<\/p>\n
\nand the glass sits beside him
\nso brim-full and bright
\nand quenching
\nthat to him it seems like a voice
\nshouting obscenities.<\/p>\n
\nat the end,
\nthere will be a great crack.
\nFollow her through.<\/p>\n