in which she asks time

dear time,

there’s something about him,

something about him that i can’t quite describe 

maybe it’s the way his lips curl up into an abyss of dust close to nothing, but just left center of everything the galaxy fuels on

the way his fingers dance like smoke bleeding into the layer of atmosphere we breathe, my lungs gasping for more 

with the flick of his hand i move

with every tremble, tremor

with just the friction between his index and thumb, my whole world tramples under my own feet 

a puppet and its puppeteer

my strings resemble flesh, strings of hair resemble the dark

darker than whatever controlled him

than whatever pupils swam in the sockets of his mind

with those orbs, the source of light and heat, the source of death and pain

with those orbs of fire and rain

of hurt and disgust

of greed and hunger

with those very eyes 

yet and still

there holds passion

there holds me in its arms, there holds me in all of my damaged beauty

there holds a heart of ice and stones

and in the middle there’s you

there’s always been just you

holding a piece of me together, the piece of me that keeps me safe

like vines yearning for the sun, i pull close to him

our legs and arms like pangea were once at opposite sides of the world- of the bed

until time bent them, our limbs folding, wearing and tearing down to the bone

and time carved into our bones each other

bones, crooked and all, are we

chemically bonded and binded into what we are now; one

one body

one breath

a heart like two ears

receptive and in sync

there’s something about him that i can’t quite describe 

maybe it’s all of him

in full

maybe it’s everything 

in full

so give us more of you

he’s running low and has only asked for you because without you, he’d just be a memory