strings of laundry on the clothesline, with a
determination to kill the clock.
For a moment, I held time in my hands; I
owned it, tracing the rounded edge, feeling
its shudder as it tick-ticked.
I'll kiss you in the moonlight if I have to,
if you've lost all hope of meeting the sunlight;
I'll hold you in the evening after light's warmth
has left us, knowing we're fleeting and trite.
You've been gone long enough for me
to miss you, and it hits me like a few pounds
of bricks thrown against my chest unexpectedly.
