One hour with you

 

If the hour were mine, I’d let it simmer down

To two full minutes. I’d brew it, let it stew

(Like bruise-black clouds, denser, denser still)

And saturate until two perfect minutes

Were all we had. If these minutes could

Be mine, I’d hold them, squeeze the very life

Right out, until mere seconds of us were left,

Few precious seconds, nothing more or less;

And with these seconds, I would only care

For that cruel instant, harder still to keep,

In which you glanced so fleetingly, and for

One moment, kept that one fine glance for me.

 

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