Halcyon

borrowed hours

we should end this,
it cannot go on, you dismiss.
i acquiesce, i agree—
but i don't not show up either,
when your message, craving
a secret escapade,
brightens up my phone.

just one more time,
you throw the dime.
we don't have to,
if you don't want to,
you always say,
and toss the hay.
yet your message hums
in blue undertones of yellow topaz,
and i find myself speeding down the highway—
because i loved you anyway.
half of you, or none of you,
i still do, or once upon a time did,
want just a fraction of you.

we are back again
in the dim, dark hotel—our gain.
you are just as i imagine you to be,
sitting with your head in your hands.
you look up, and the teeny strands
of ashen guilt leave the land.
we know it's quicksand—
but hey, you know what's grand?
our sandcastle built on the dampest sand
is back. so, now, hey,
we don't have to worry until, pray,
the waves wash us away.

we don't share the time;
we steal it with ease and grime.
but when dawn makes its way,
you turn off the nightlamp,
rip the curtains—
we can't keep doing this,
is all that you say,
looking at the ground,
a fresh guilt newly found.

the ticking of the wall clock sighs louder
than our heartbeats combined.
time bends—it's simple relativity.
but when you steal moments,
they steal your peace.

your ring shines brighter
than our consciences.
you mutter a curse,
you say i am worse,
and slam the door shut—
because what we do, and did,
should never survive the light.

we were a secret even from ourselves,
borrowed hours, borrowed hearts,
and a silence that always cost
more than the words we didn't say.

**********