It’s the now
of our own forsaking.
I’ve been taking lessons from a blind
ventriloquist because somebody once told me
loose lips sink ships and tomorrow’s gone.
Shall we hold our tongues, smile?
Then, just this:
Miles and miles of waiting;
the call and fall and click debating
our breath, relating all we are to noisy hands.
Stand still, Love. Please. Let me see your face.
All I ever wanted,
right here, now.