10/3/03 Time

Time
My hated lover.
He is a sloth wrapped around my skin
Stealing my air, stealing my youth
A droning bore
telling the same painful jokes
over and over.

He smiles languidly as if we share a secret
and brushes the skirt mirthfully up my legs
catching his nail on my thigh.

My hands pause from their futile work
--I've always known I cannot refuse him--
And I find them pushing against his chest,
Pressing him into my bed,
And searching his clothes like a pickpocket.

He laughs and points to his shoes,
I tug them off but find them empty—
No secret snatch of paper, no thread of gold
To lace around my heart.

I am angry and tearful,
Ripping his vest, his buttons:
"Why do you laugh at me?!
Why do you make the silence
The seclusion, span the hours, the days?
I choke on you and find no release,
Yet you tempt me to conquer you."

He pauses from his pursuit, his raison d'être
And holds me like a child in his womb
My sobs buffeted by his chest,
Soaking into his long black hair,
And I slip into a calm that caresses
Like a creamy silk nightgown.

He slips out during the night,
Having other people to do, things to see,
And I am left pacified and composed,
Wrapped in a blanket drinking tea,
Counting the minutes
until I can look into the eyes of my love
And not see Time
doing a jig.