Time stalls in our presence… it stops to watch what we’ll do next.
When we were children we ran naked through a backyard sprinkler and the old lady who lived there yelled at us and threatened to call the police. We ran like little snipes from her yard and the delicious stolen droplets of water now pooling between our toes.
The winds stop moving at your command, I watch it happening with wonder as you wave your right hand.
You are ten feet tall and bullet proof, you are the epitome of a summer spent in a radio flyer, and treasures collected at the beach. You are sand between my toes, and sex underneath.
I told you once we were running with scissors, and there was never any safety net… I felt the chill in late september and a pain I haven’t forgotten yet.
Time stalls in our presence in a sleepy sort of way… It doesn’t get things done, there is always another little something it needs to say.
Turn back the clock, meet halfway down the block, bring your Bird on a wire, and that rusted old radio flyer.