How to Lose Time

Forget the tick, tick, tick of
three hands rotating on the face.
Read until you are nestled among
the words, the separate letters,
all bound about you like an
inky jacket, seeping inwards
‘til nothing about you is separate.
Live for the winters with their
shattered days, the shards falling down
cold and wet on your slickening face,
the nights longer than you’d think,
fat, full, and belching stars.
Make too many plans and complete
them all, or at least you owe
it to yourself to try. Do not make
lists, and if you must, write in pen.
Or maybe, lose a loved one first.
The memory that will always move you
to cry, that kiss, kiss, kiss of your grandfather’s
lips on your mouth, desperate for just one
more touch, how you knew then that time is both
fast and slow, punctuated by heartbeats,
the way the pulse lags as time speeds up,
the seconds, the days, the way
the final moment gone too soon can
pass sluggishly, the dry lips parted, taking long
gulps of you, the way it happened so fast
you forgot what you wanted to say.