Like pitch

The seconds drop like pitch

from high to low,

so heavy fast and lightning slow,

that the increments between

when I touched your face

and now

seem millennial.

Each tight tick,

so much longer than the last,

dragging out the distance,

longing finding length

within this second and the next.

When

is all I need

and know.

Too far, too long, too much time and distance to get, go, gone

To span this mile long minute

and the next

until your voice

or smile

or words made form into heated touch

caress my face,

refuel my heart,

fill up the lows

with all that is you.

Make the seconds tremble

and minutes burn

slow and steady

hot, dark and smudgey.

Until we are

streaked with want ready,

suspended

melting

effortless.

Reunited and reborn,

together

we are deaf to time’s slow tick

Immersed in

eager mouths sipping

the endless space between breath and skin,

fractions of sounds escaping,

voices and bodies rising

rolling

calling out

as one

perfect

in pitch.