I never considered time
A process
A natural sequencing
Of events
That either ties
Or separates us
One from another.
From this perspective
My lack of understanding is
Catastrophic
A failure of massive proportion.
When I was with her
Time was nothing
But a theory
Better left in textbooks
And dry addresses
By preachers and professors.
Lying with her
There
Was
No
Time.
There was nothing but
The sweetness of her breath
Softness of her body
The intoxication
Of her arms.
Ask me now and I will tell you
Time is a wolf
Relentlessly pursuing
The prey of memory
Wrestling it to the hard
Cold soil
Savagely reducing it to
White bone and cartilage
Stripped of warm flesh
And drained of blood
That once was love.
Saturday, January 23, 2010
Time Wolf
Posted by The Dashboard Poet at Saturday, January 23, 2010
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