The pensive pendulum slips from my gasping fingertips;
fogginess and deeper magnification cracks into breath-stealing truth.
I have graduated but my heart has not forgotten him,
though he lay contently bound by family, there is a voice inside of me
insisting that I frequently am his ponderment.
Time rushes backward, then drips its final inspiration
like a silver raindrop quenching one final desperate plea.
I swallow words while he disconnects movement,
allowing us to be our own personal world.
During those rare moments we collect
where foreboding clouds exterminate unease,
our lucid eyes discern each other's inscriptions
of a hopeless romantic's journey to the heart.
