words speaking to me, and December 29

words speaking to me, and the cieling fan
our conversation; important things
aren’t waiting, the ecstacy of the final moments of a dance
performed on the days we have the freedom,
of meeting again. of drawing our curtains and ripping apart
slow rhythms, compulsions.
would you like to talk of tomorrow?
we will be looking out at the horizon?
breathing tiny bits of air, as if
there would be time enough for everything, forever.