This Time

This time 5/25/14 The drink of two thousand years The smoke of two thousand more A love of ten thousand million years that we never want to end And it seems that it was only yesterday that I first touched you. We have been together for this and so much more that I never thought possible. But somehow I’ve never come to know you and it disturbs me Elusive as a liquid or vapor through my fingertips A wondrous sensation then it’s gone, as we’re almost embarrassed by it. T. S. wrote of it, but what do we make of it? How do we work? Distracted and somehow we fit, or get by. Missing and firing, blaming and forgiving, hurting and caressing A fever and chills, this lukewarm middle ground, where we mind only our platitudes is a still water pool. Tell me, is it me, or is it you? I’m sure it must be me, because I know I’m not everything that you desired. This is my vulnerability.