That Special Person: Those Awkward Years
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Ex Animo Defuncto Te Adloquitor Hic


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Those Awkward Years

Time just stopped.	
The hands are standing still.
The conversation’s dead now.
My words just do not flow.
My hand mimics those of the clock.
Stopped, laid tensely on your hip.
That place it went with ease, 
Just a few moments before this;
In those moments we had of peace.

Those moments were really hours,
But not one as long as this.
That one line I spoke, thoughtlessly,
Destroyed that time of bliss.
That split-second of stupidity,
Caused all our awkwardness.
My mouth is failing me,
I need to break; this second of eternity.

The clock-hands are still motionless.
Emotions have no limits.
Happiness and pleasure, last but
A breath, this an age at least.
My mind is working over time,
Searching for release.
Slowly. Steadily, I see the clock
Hands move; “Tick”- the feeling
Is much clearer now, I realise I must:

“Tock.” Time is back, yet not relaxed.
You move my hand from round your hip,
Turn to me and place,
Your finger upon my lip.
Your words come fast and clear, 
Mumbled carefully in my ear.
Suddenly you’ve said what 
I wished to hear, and quickly 
You removed all my silent fear.
Those hours of pleasure are now all back,
Those hours that last but moments,
But are remembered for an age at least.













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