Apocalypse Poetry

Me every day.

The world has fallen apart. Everyone is in isolation. Except for my husband, I haven’t touched another human in over three weeks, and I’m someone who loves physical touch. My brain is going crazy.

The good news, I guess, is that the ennui has my creativity flowing. I’ve composed some music, done some writing, and made a few craft projects. And I’m trying to write a song. I’ve never really been a song-writer, but I have an idea, and I’m working toward it. In the process, I’ve been doing some stream-of-consciousness writing, and while I still haven’t written the song, one of my musings turned into this poem. Enjoy and be kind.

Your Watch
Your watch sits patiently on your wrist.
Why do its hands seem to move so slowly?
Is that their normal speed
or do they slow down when I’m with you?
You have a freckle, hidden by the watch face
but I know it’s there.
I see the veins in your hand pulsing.
Your heart is beating fast,
but not as fast as mine.

I didn’t hear the tick
until you leaned in close.
It’s subtle, almost muffled,
or maybe my blood is just rushing in my ears.
I hear the slight metallic ping
as you put your arm around me.
I felt the tension too.
We needed to touch,
to be touching.
My mouth still tastes like bourbon,
but it’s dry now.
I know you so well, but I still get nervous
every time I’m this close-
to you, to the possibility.

Your finger tips barely graze my shoulder.
Just touch me!
This close, I can smell your skin,
clean, a little sweet.
I blink more slowly than I need to,
trying to memorize this flash of time
without giving myself away.
This means everything to me,
but maybe it means nothing to you.
I shouldn’t appear too eager.
I can’t want you too much.

I hear the world around us,
the clink of ice in glasses,
the voices of other people,
my own heartbeat, but they all fall away
with one matchless word from you: my name.
Nobody in the world says my name like you do.
Something about the way
your tongue handles the L.

And now we lock eyes
and the weight of all this hits me.
We’ve been here a thousand times before,
and we’ll be here a thousand more,
one of us more in love than the other.
This time, it’s my turn.

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