In our Heartbeats.

I wake up every morning

to this blaring sound of an alarm

and my heart races, but 

I don't lose

races.  I win them,

even at the expense of my 

heart. 

I want to write you a poem my love, you know, 

just for old times- 

for those electronic nights 

between our spacebars and 

moon lips. 

It is meant to be beautiful,

this morning-  blue sky

and chriping birds, a little girl

playing Mozart on the other side 

of the courtyard where 

non-chalant pigeons flock together 

in that  immortal music. Yes, 

something like that.

Sometimes I think,

 numbers are beautiful too, you know,

like those seventy eight birds in 

a flock returning back to their 

nests, 

crossing miles of skies, unaware of the

thousand and four brave men 

 marching together against a tyrant king

 in the lands below-

shouting, hooting, roaring, from 

deep within their 

hearts

. 

Rolled over on the far side of my window

is a sunlit pendulum

whose every movement I am aware of. 

It makes me sad, that swinging pendulum, 

that counting machine which

makes me race

every time, when I could have just loved

you. 


Yes,I have believed in measured time, I have

believed in 

calendars and clepsydrae.  

I have believed in patterns that would engulf 

me,but I don't

want to measure time anymore, not in 

swinging pendulums.  

Trust me when I say this, for in

years to come I shall become

my words- yes just that, and that is why

you should know-

I want to touch your heart and 

count every beat, each one-for in this life 

and another,

time and everything else 

must be measured in

our 

heartbeats,

like you

 always wanted.