And you. You are the only thing I know about consistency. Like the ink written upon my skin, I close my eyes and trace you by heart and your lines never waver even when my hands refuse to hold steady. I have spent our first act learning you; by heart, by feel, by muscle memory, until the patterns of your DNA lay seamless alongside mine. No more could I know the sound of your breath against me than the sky could know the sound of the wind as it draws across the horizon. This is how I have come to know you; that I feel you there even when evidential proof falters before my eyes. That the metronome of your heart beats synonymously with mine.
We leave behind us wakes of time that fall too fast between our fingers; a second act of stories written with the blood we have sacrificed for our legacy. Volumes of sacred words we refuse to speak out loud but instead scrawl upon pages and vow never to forget; our sonnets, our creeds, our prayers. All the while pretending not to hear the sound of the second hand that pounds inside our chest like a bomb; our hearts in lockdown to protect ourselves from that of which we never can.
The closing act: Everything tastes like goodbye.
~ ©️ Kathy Parker // Time ~
Day Twenty-Four #poemadayfeb: Time