I want to carve a hole in time we could inhabit
   together and feel it like forever

It's been endless weeks of grinding,
           days of searching for something not there
                 hours of wondering how long. (For you too, I think)
                             Don't want it.
Maybe we're the simulacra--standing in, here in doldrums...
Standing in on shaking knees, for...
  I dunno...

for the real we from last Wednesday...?

I want to drive out past last lights with you,
leave our droning town behind awhile (quit drowning).
I want it to be night time. Quiet talk and heater hum.
or a confident silence, filled up.
Let this be the carven time, perhaps: the cubic feet of the car.

We might be social insects, here
alight on lightest wings
When lives are fraught and frozen,
freeze a moment we can frame...
We might be social insects,
high on irridescent membrane wings—Order hymenoptera
      Are we up too high for skeletons we tried to wear outside?

I guess we might be social insects
     (Suborder Apocrita)
Small things, we, I suppose. But sharing a mind, sometimes.
...You found one on my carpet. You forgot to take it home.

I want to wander aimless, slug cheap wine from steel cups
                                            (again)
     I want to let our skulls cloud with sour sips and easy laughs
     I want to catch your running eyes, scheming, through raindrops
     I want to sit on my couch again, drunken voices loud over
             French
                         Films
     I want to rest my cheek atop your head one more time
           before
                    we can't anymore.
Maybe that could be the time we carve

I think you can probably tell...          
I want it to be Wednesday, always, and watch you smoke in the rain.
In the carven time.