The Time Machine

Time is liquid

it is water

and we are parched.

Come outside to

Turn your fingers into locks

cup them with mine,

seal up your fingerprints.

We will catch every drop-

tic ticking pieces-

until our fleshbowl is full and flowing.

We will sip softly

lap close,

until we are glistening on the inside

glowing on the outside

and exchanging glances like waves wearing away at rocky coasts.