Timely Deceit – a poem

Need time be that arbiter of activity always?

I think not, its inexorable push set aside

By the rush of pheromones, tingling skin,

Raised gooseflesh responding to the touch

Of soft lips brushing on warm, silken skin.


Time is shown to be a mean arbiter indeed,

Harsh and unremitting in loneliness, forgiving

In the throes of scents stolen before the world

Time comes to filter through our experiences,

Hope cherished and spirit kept alive, despite time.



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