i was supposed to have been counting minutes,
all that time,
i suppose.
i should have been soaking in sunshine,
hurrying for the fullness of love.
and while, perhaps sentient, perhaps subconsciously,
i etched bits and pieces into my body
and my skin, the cells
do insist upon evolution:
i cannot force my body to be stagnant, to be still.
how lucky, how lovely, how lithe:
memories that burnish themselves
in the depths of time,
that rise from the brine of years
all the more golden for their age.