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…
