nine arrowed together by lovers
in unusual hours no matter when
at coffee, lunch, tea, day, night
slipping through urgent fingers
grasping at sand they have to make up
for these unaccounted moments
they could not let pass without finding out
knowing full well each tide runs after
catching breath in liquid seconds
on the turn before its ebb
never coming back the same
understanding what has passed between them
were not seconds wasted waiting
for some non-existent tomorrow
~
n.b. NaPoWriMo 2021 Day Twelve
CLP 12/04/2021
