This is a song failed pregnancy.
I hope you like it.

Rose on her finger tips.
“We’ll be working on it.”
I whisper though not touching her
while she’s still trying
to understand. “It’s just not now”
The polish makes her nails appear
so young. Peeled pink.

When we were in this club
together, remember?
We had to scream to
understand each other. (I could see
the white shining in your eyes,
competing with the white of your teeth)
I wanted you so badly then.

         Am I, are we chronophobic?
         Am I, are we chronophobic?

Sometimes I think we should
just pretend and the sun
would be as golden as before.
Just wandering in real time,
along the streets on black asphalt
like we used to while
holding hands in public.

         Am I, are we chronophobic?
         Am I, are we chronophobic?

         Am I, are we chronophobic?
         Am I, are we chronophobic?

I refuse to read between the lines.
Unity of the bodies.
It’s not yet time.
The day I turned away
from mainstream again is marked
in my brain as cloudy and grey.
Let’s just keep going.