Like pitch
The seconds drop like pitch
from high to low,
so heavy fast and lightning slow,
that the increments between
when I touched your face
and now
seem millennial.
Each tight tick,
so much longer than the last,
dragging out the distance,
longing finding length
within this second and the next.
When
is all I need
and know.
Too far, too long, too much time and distance to get, go, gone
To span this mile long minute
and the next
until your voice
or smile
or words made form into heated touch
caress my face,
refuel my heart,
fill up the lows
with all that is you.
Make the seconds tremble
and minutes burn
slow and steady
hot, dark and smudgey.
Until we are
streaked with want ready,
suspended
melting
effortless.
Reunited and reborn,
together
we are deaf to time’s slow tick
Immersed in
eager mouths sipping
the endless space between breath and skin,
fractions of sounds escaping,
voices and bodies rising
rolling
calling out
as one
perfect
in pitch.