Counting Every Hour
Counting every hour,
minutes marked in blood,
seconds weighed in tears—
waiting for the flood.
So precious at first, all the firsts:
hummingbird-heart memories,
both febrile and lucid,
a fantasy of feathered dreams.
Your hand around my heart
as you slid the truth off my wrist—
a deft sleight of hand,
misdirected as we kissed.
Where did we go, beneath the waves,
breathing water, searching shore—
a brush, a taste, missed memory,
a trick of the light, nothing more.
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