Time,
it’s trying my patience.
I pace, I fret,
choose my dress,
paint my face,
practice my smile.
Time drags and skips
simultaneously.
How?
One moment
seconds grind insufferably,
the next, whole hours
have been greedily swallowed,
erased from existence
whilst I blinked.
Not long now.
Less than three hours.
One hundred and seventy minutes.
Fuck!
My poor heart pounds, its rhythm
erratic as the troublesome clock.
I want to see you,
yearn to touch.
I crave contact,
flesh on flesh;
but in taking it
we’ll cross boundaries
we swore we’d never breach.
I’m scared, mind reeling.
Doe-eyed,
Gazing into space
I ponder your image,
apparition-like, floating,
calling my name.
I conjure your scent,
your texture, your heat,
that longed-for moment
I melt in the warmth
of our first real embrace.
I have to be strong.
I need you in my arms,
and I in yours.
Stubborn time, move along…
let me know my lover.
