The Clock Was Ticking
To love rarely
rather than deeply
is words falling
between the spaces of
my spread fingers;
the untamed air is rushing past
the tender vulnerability
of years of yes;
the weight of a feather
balanced to a heart.
Love
rushing past our
tender faces as the heavens
annihilates the wisdom
of my loneliness.
In my solitude,
I crave and take the sweetness
of flesh between pages,
between the whispers
of words,
between the moments
of your definitive parchment,
between what my creation craves.
Exhausted I pause,
in my lone footsteps
for the dirge of you and I
knowing
I would have rather loved deeply
than died.
TJK
