The clock’s hands arrested
At the time our lips came.
The blood rushing in our temples
Overcame the ticking.

The air hurried into silence
As our hearts synced, beating.
The rift coming between us
Traced back and forth, rekindling.

Bother flees our skin
And doubt sinks in quicksand.
For sure, for certain,
As your fingers navigate
Every wrinkle in my hand,

And I catch your shoulder,
Yet to be chiseled, for wars,
From the weight of a gun,
Full of light, you let pass,

Piercing through,
Peering for my soul,
Searching for each crevice
To comfort and assure.

Your other hand,
Driven unto madness
Of an unrelenting encore,
Scouring for the ungrasped
And the worded whispers
To beg earnestly for.

… And time up on his chamber
Painted pictures just to remember
That moment he arrested his hands
To give two lovers an unafflicted chance…

a space, sacred,
free from unwell;

breaking bread
with time's whim,

and explore the unsaid,
of what can possible bring,

or the imagined regret
of an unarrived spring.

I've always feared
That all this love I give
is for nothing

Then, I faced death,
her warmest embrace
she  w h i s p e r s  to me

"That love isn't for nothing,
of all the life I can take out,
of this universe and beyond,"

"there is only one thing I cannot ****,"

"love"

Paint the skies blue,
And touch the heavens.
See the truth in hue;
Skin, delicate feathers.

Smooth as a storm,
Tough as marbled form.
Smile wide like Great-whites,
Dimples rind from walnut barks.

Glasses firm, sitting on a bridge,
Above the rims are bowed ridges.
Dark and thick
Fine and slick.