One hour ago and
My hours with you are spent tiptoeing on a fence, white picket, strange and thin, and I don’t think I’ve ever known the footing needed to keep that kind of balance
With the lightning showering down beside me, arms length away and angry,
And the wind whistling around me with the sort of aloof fingers that do not linger playfully in my hair like they used to.
Two hours now and
My hours with you leave me wandering home with scratch marks on every inch of  my skin but my body welcomes it, I think truthfully these limbs are a little giddy
And somewhere above the insincerity of it all the stars are peaking through asking me to believe in a sort of sadness that is now foreign to me
But God I don’t want to, God that felt so good.

October, 2015

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