time is

missing this

We sit in the stairwell of a moonlit mall

though the mind drifts, ebbing on the

faint wave of a drink from 5 hours past.

A certain purity in the silence, this time,

save for the murmur of two hearts, 

and two hands, intertwined.

Time never seemed so evil, yet now

it is the call from your mother

too long past your curfew-

your sense of seven hours was left

on the pillow next to his.

Time is

what makes the elevator come too quick,

what will erode the memory of

the way his sleepy grin 

looks like, as he says goodbye

from the doorway of his flat.

Time is

what drags you from his quivering lip,

his wet cheek, at last, and into the taxi.

It’s the 3-digit number you

check daily on your phone-

a quiet reminder 

of when he’ll be home.

So come back down to earth,

bury your face a little deeper

into his chest, hold onto this moment

a little tighter, lest

you ever forget how precious

time is.