The measurement of time is a fiction,
but still you’re always late.
I measure it by loud heartbeats;
one, two, three, four…
If you’re not here,
yours must have ceased to beat
surely?
How do you measure it?
Alarms,
ticking,
brash bells,
constant clanging,
all nerves frazzled,
everything a rude race,
battling time,
crushing it (&
my heart)
with pounding footsteps, late
for yet another date.
Relationships can’t be measured in time;
if they were, you would never be mine