Eleven forty-two
and I’m missing you
You said you’d be back between
eleven thirty and twelve o’clock
I hope you didn’t stop anywhere because it seems
The minutes are hours and I’m powerless
with longing. I guess this means
I love you, even though now it’s
eleven fifty-two
.
.
.
.
(Actually, he came through the door at 11:47, right on schedule. Poetic license!) 🙂
Shawn L. Bird 
Love sits still, as the clock moves on.
🙂
Verse seems so easy for you.
I’ve had a lot of practice.
(There’s a lot of it here, 5 years of daily posts, whether it’s worth reading is another thing!)
Love is every hour, not just the moments.
Indeed
What a coincidence. I once began a poem, “It’s eighteen minutes
Till December ~ 🙂 (and he’s still got eight minutes)
lol