Poetry

Snatched Moment in a Long Day

Toes touching, noses pressed close,

magnets in our hearts.

The clock is ticking,

great eyes of the sly shadow

on our backs,

a whisper away from

coiling its tendrils around our ankles

to drag us apart.

We form our circle, arm in arm,

our energy like salt

casting the cursed presence aside.

A beat more.

A beat more, and our lips touch.

A beat more, and we are.

We are, we are, we are.

Nothing can break us.

Poetry

Trickster Timing

It’s a strange thing, time.

Hours can feel like days

when you have something to look forward to,

someone to go home to,

to hold, to cherish.

 

When you’re with them, days

pass like minutes,

heartbeats of a hummingbird,

rolling the week along

so that once more you have to part.

 

Time, that careful trickster,

changes again,

making every second drag,

as if taking extra delight in the stab wounds

separation

causes you.