Waiting on Myself

The Fickle Heartbeat

Waiting on Myself.

Shared by The Lost-and-Found Lover.

I have dated.

I have dated her.

I have made her heartbeat my clock, each moment an individual piece of time captured by the pace of her breath.

When I am cocooned in her arms, swaddled by her essence, time trickles through our fingers.

I have slept in unwashed sheets, relishing the scent she’s left lingering.

When I touch the softness of her thighs, wander through her legs, time is fleeting but leaves us full.

I have fed her bits of my past, hoping she would swallow them with easy tenderness.

They only made her gag.

I have begged her to patch the cracks that have settled on my heart.

“A hammer,” she said, “a hammer will do right by you.”

I have been shattered,

crumpled and burned.

I have been lost but I am still here,

Still waiting to be found.

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