Mornings turn to noons
that turn to nights

and I am quite content
to wait through the cycle
of time for you

to serve up each hour
in the shattered bowl of
my heart

for you to eat,
for you to meet

me beneath the bridges
that I burnt finding my
way to you

sacred seconds to spend
on holding hands and
kissing through a storm.

It is my destiny to shake
my bones dry,

to carve initials into
rotten trees, nature's
disease

it is a sickness, it's true
to wait for you