Possible Futures

Telling the stories to the keyboard. In brief orgasms of inspiration. The sparse pulse of fireflies in the cough of the waning sun. Small lies to build a larger truth. Empty chalkboards still dressed in the ghosts of expired lessons. The stubborn geometry of expectations. Did it hurt enough. To change me? So that the next time I'll know better than to wait.

For it to come to me.

Will I wake up beside myself in a sweat of surrender. Or will I sleep in tiny victories.

Knowing we were never really there.

Little bits of time travel in every lover.