Out of Time

Out of Time


The prognosis isn’t good; still, you continue to dance


Cha-cha-cha! Never skipping a beat

Your inner clock runs fast

Nobody else hears

That deafening metronome






When you left, the world seemed emptier

Wider, somehow

You used to tell me not to touch

Your things when you were gone

I found that so strange

and morbid

But now I understand.

You wanted to live on, for me

And now you do.

I step into your room

And your scent assails me

I cannot seem to stop

The liquid ache rising in my throat

When I touch

the things you touched

When I read

the things you wrote.

Beyond the mist of my tears

I look around,

And inhale your space

You were right when you told me

not to touch your things

Because you’d be back

to linger in this place.