time-looks-up-to-the-sky.html


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            <h1 class="title">Time looks up to the sky</h1>
            

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            <p><span class="line">I wish I’d kissed you when I had the chance.</span><span class="line">Your face hovering there, so near to mine,</span><span class="line">your mouth pursed—what word was it you pronounced?</span></p>
            <p><span class="line">When I think about you, <a href="howithappened.html">something in my pants</a></span><span class="line">tightens, and my thoughts run, and I realize</span><span class="line">I should’ve kissed you when I had the chance.</span></p>
            <p><span class="line">I want that moment never to be past</span><span class="line">like Keats’s lovers on the grecian urn:</span><span class="line">his mouth pursed, her figure turned to pronounce</span></p>
            <p><span class="line">her hips in ways that are not feminist.</span><span class="line">But time strolls mildly on, not glancing at my</span><span class="line">wish to kiss you when I had the chance,</span></p>
            <p><span class="line">whispered like a <a href="about-the-author.html">beggar to a prince</a></span><span class="line">outside his palace: time looks up to the sky,</span><span class="line">purses his lips, and hears what I pronounce</span></p>
            <p><span class="line">but pays it little mind. If he would just</span><span class="line">turn back, bend down, and follow my design,</span><span class="line">I would have kissed you when I had the chance,</span><span class="line">as your mouth pursed and you pronounced goodbye.</span></p>
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