Intervals and Interspaces

Tick-tock, the clock's running

- or has it stopped?

Time still runs fast and my heartbeat

twice its pace,

With every pump, draining the air of patience 

out of my lungs

and pumping blood through my veins,

blood concentrated with the urgency

of a feeling I so long to convey to you, my dear.

This longing, does it end?

For it consumes me everyday

- my thoughts, my energy.

From many a mile away, I try

to catch a warm aura that

may fill me up;

an empty presence, a silence.

This pathway between two destinations

is filled with marbles coloured

by the bitter-sweet trail you leave (for me).

But what if it's just the pause

between an inhalation and a heave.

Comfort in my solitude that I fill

with the same patience that fills

the intervals and the interspaces

in this room with no windows.

Maybe a moment to savour is all

the acceptance I need

- purified and pumped back into my heart.

The clock is running, my dear, and so is time;

but when the times change and the clock stops,

in that moment I will be with you again.