Nine minutes is no time. Yet
we made a whole world inside
those buzzers. Until you jostled me
beneath watermelon mountains
while I muttered the contents
of some dream still swirling.
It was midday. The cast of Lost.
A tattoo in my palm. Who knew
I could shake you with a number.
I remember your matted hair,
hands curled in mine. You asked
why I’ve shared no vivid dream,
but share this. You’re frustrated.
Pissed. All I can claim is this place,
wide open space, time twisting in
the wind like a whistle. I meant
no foul. Simply shared because
it was there. This life. With you.