We slip-slide past each other,
Like honeycomb-slick layers of graphite. I fall into you for an instant
And inhale a future that lingers
Like the vapour-trail of a stranger’s perfume.
The portent of a terrible possibility.
Where our timelines cross
And we brush palms,
And feel a fever that shoots through the vertical plane like a pin.
The mounted specimen of a moment. That’s it. The pendulum stops swinging and we pause in the Now.