(Time is) A Slippery Soap

time is a slippery soap
on my watered fingers
running out, getting away
from me

hours are distancing trains
between us
arriving and leaving our eyes
at different times

the stars are blinking dots
on the rushing seconds
in my arms
on my scalp
counting up from fifty-nine
to one
setting the tempo to the rhythm
of my keys on the board
typing down to you an i

the sun is a shadow to my right
a dance over the freed wind
when i walk down the street
and feel my cheeks kissed by its warmth
then my hair and my nose
and my neck when the day is done

the moon is a smiling face
across the crooked road
to heaven
as each minute’s soul rises and falls
to their demise
then rises again in the hope of looking
after those that always held them dear

in the run of a quill on paper
in the laughter shared between strangers
or the heat beneath the sheets of lovers

time mocks my redding cheeks
my thinning hair unnoticed left
and it scars my eyes with laughter
and my brow with the sound
of everything felt
within a day’s jump
on my shoulders

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