Timing

It took a little time
For her fingers
To get to grip
With the grip
On those strings

She pulled time from
A clock with her hands
Tied in a knot
And knotted an hour
Of mine

And the music played
It was haunting, and frayed
Like she wasn’t so sure
She could finish the song
She was wrong

Her hands took a moment
And stretched it
To unfold it into
An origami measurement
Of us

She asked me later
Why I hadn’t stopped her
As she stretched my skin
With time
Like I was a string instrument

What timing of mine,

Was mine,

Was hers, too,

As she spoke into
My chest
The rhythm that best
Suited our time
To lay to rest –

The timing, was never perfect.

-A.A.

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