Forty-Five Minutes and I'M Way Ahead of You This Time.

Thirty minutes later. Two a.m. and I'm still here, I haven't forgotten...... Thirty minutes, tears are racing, creating clock hands that point to the edge of my chin, trembling, my bones point only to the end and you, you're more than thirty minutes late. Screaming, I'm slashing my heart to bits, forty minutes now you've been screaming. Forty minutes later, you've broken, me, I'm well aware of what happens to mothers.. postpartum... and I paid for you, I paid for you for twenty-seven months and forty-five minutes late is only slightly too much for me to bear. You're not accepting this, your eyes are popping, Dear, there's blood dripping from your glances and for seventeen minutes and 17 days I've been twisting us into nothing while you've smiled at me, I've been writing the truth that will shut you down... you're illiterate, you're criss-crossing my statements into lies and my letters are running from you... they've been running for months now, back into my mouth to feel the safety of my tongue until I kiss you forty-five minutes late. Your steps are tick-tocking and Edger Allen Poe couldn't have saved us, underneath the floorboards at night while I feel the insanity of time... attack what's left of me, you're not doing this this time around, you're late and I'm trapped inside Tuesday, but it's March now, Dear, and the years since we first kissed are counting themselves to four, I'm serious about the edges that I've been sanding past midnight, I've saved the sawdust for you so you can eat the corners of me next time your mouth opens, I've saved myself twenty-seven months and thirty minutes late but I figure, as the words dance, frightened, on my tongue, at least I'm here at least I'm thirty minutes ahead of you.