A Place Without Time
Posted by That One Guy
Long, long ago and far, far away…
(Pause for restructuring of certain syllables
in order to properly express symbols of elegant etiquette)
You’ve put our relationship in a place without time.
It was ART in her presence.
(But she didn’t want that out of life [you know, to be a presence] she wanted to be somebody’s
But it was art.
Primal rhythm to her speech
ac-sensual-ated by the periodical ringing
of the spoon on a coffee cup in the middle of transformation.
Then I remembered
(or thought I did)
What it was like to hold realistic expectations of passion in such high regard.
Seems like forever
(but we know what forever really is: The cloudy explosion of non-dairy creamer in a coffee cup.) Forever
Is the tendrils, patterns, swirling around in an attempt to make you forget that you really don’t need stimulants to become a whole person.
If God were a painter
–there in time–in no time–in suspended time
was his picture.
It was his instance of Platonic perfection manifested for men
so they (we) know that there is something
and we (they) can never have it.