The time seems to pull away,
Seemingly losing essence

As presence upon presence
Steals into the light.

The hours seem to lag, to drag,
Sagging like a bag of

Paper, crinkled with folds
As they tried to conceal its contents.

We've always known what was inside-
Tired, weary cupids pent up

And suffocated by tight embraces.
Cruel Eros waits for them to decide

If it is to be, or not-
Those hearts are running out

And they fear it will rot,
Fester if not used by quickening

Words and touches.
To the scorching hormonal summer heat,

She knows that she is
Losing all thoughts.