Lying here imagining what would happen if
we wound back to that Time and Place and
met all over again?
And you knew it was me
and
I knew it was you:
Would we talk about why it didn't work?
I doubt it, for we are not yet wise enough
to speak of such matters.
We are younger, slimmer, less gray -
which, and it must be said, is akin to
gaining your sight back - only better.
Now there we are chatting in the blue July air
with the gentle idleness of summer grass. You are
cooled by my contemplative calm and I warm in your
blood-raw light.
Or maybe we are like veterans at a war
reunion - survivors of each other. Speaking
of future shared horrors: battles won and
lost.
Hell - we could screw, argue, have a Mexican
marriage, or split.
But wait - I notice the way your lower lip
drops and you raise your eyebrows ever so
slightly when telling a joke. And how your
crushed diamond eyes cut through my eminence front.
Truth is - I've been watching your lure all
evening from afar as you go about spawning gardens
from the soles of your feet.
So what happens later: well, it gets my full attention.
It's odd isn't it? That long look back to see
where our choices are born.
But time is a thief and it never gets caught.
Anyway - with our damn luck the clock would strike
12 and the spell would broken as in some
Cinderella fable.
"Fairy Godmother, give me one more hour"