9:40 to 6:40. What's in 3 hours?
I've asked myself this time
And time again. 3 hours is everything.
I've seen blushing brides kiss their ivory goodbye
Knees trembling, sweat pooled under beaded satin
3 hours is enough time to take a pill, or 20.
Little pink and white advertisements, like a carnival
"Eat me," they whisper. And you do, until it hurts.
3 hours is the concert that changed your life.
It's a plane flight. Clouds race away from under you,
leaving you with naught but a dead drop.
The ghosts they leave leer, until wind chases them away.
3 hours is the lover you never expected to find you
And the heartbreak that catalyzed a barbed-wire ribcage.
You wonder why I worry about the time difference.
3 hours is everything. It's still light where you are,
But I'm in the dark. Cavernous, empty and stale.
What can light promise that darkness can't?
3 hours could be the coronation of a king,
Or the end of an era.
So you see, if that light hooks you, fills you
You'll be brim-full, teeming, ablaze
And there will be nothing, nothing in the dark
No space for me--anyone--anything
Savor those 3 hours, breathe them in
But don't forget the dark that touched you first.