The old clock
hung meaningless
on the limestone wall of separate dimensions,
the mantel of time-traveling lovers.
An artificial fireplace burning
with blue tongue and amber arms
tangled between the Boston snowstorm
and the Gold Coast heatwave.
Synced are their pace
and the speed of their heartbeats.
It’s not by accident
that he’s learned to
wake when she wakes
and sleep when she sleeps
even half a globe away.
Time became irrelevant.
His circadian rhythm
has shifted towards hers.
*Another collaboration with Benjamin Grossman. Thank you my friend!

I like this a lot!
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Thanks Chris! 🙂
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Yeah, this is ridiculously good.
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☺️
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Thanks for this! Always nice to write something with you.
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