Evening’s Procrastination

The clock grows weary,

Of the Hand’s entanglement

To twist overhead and back

Deltoid dislocation

The sense to savor, striking

For seconds may seep through my own five fingers

Wanting to hold onto fingers, interlaced

Ten fingers clasp the seconds firmly.

But time is ghostly,

Phasing through flesh and bone

An unwavering entitlement

Two chrome globes bounce off one another

Newton’s cradle           conserved momentum

Coming together,         just as fast as they pull away

Hand’s rotation slowing as the contact bestirs,

To watch the aerialists clink,

Again and again, in a forever loop

Kinetic infinity

Clockwise, counter me

Vacant stalling under the moonbeam’s spotlight

Scurrying from the dawn’s half light

As the sun rises from the bed

Where the moon will soon lay

Both weary prisoners of time

I imagine you, riding the winds that fill my lungs

Dragging my feet through the hourglass’ sand

Slowing the sun’s descent through the pale, pink skies

Harbingers of the night

A lump forms in my throat

Longing, I think it is

Soon to metastasize

A symptom of the plague that’s been feeding on your absence

An elixir is what I need

To taste the sweetness of your presence once more

Waiting for the sun to blink, just for a moment

And in that fleeting darkness

I am wishing for heavy feet

So that I may walk towards the new light

Soaking up the dark

Just a little longer,

With you.