Give me a moment, love,
with my fingertips and I will show you what you so desperately hope.
You believe, do not believe it could be different, do not want to hurt again.
You believe when I say it, but doubt your own heart.
Give me a moment, love.
Just one.

I haven’t a clock nor timepiece nor care.
Moments are not measures of time.
Moments are events, thoughts, complete structures.

Give me one moment, love,
to complete my thoughts,
to run my fingers up across the back of your hand,
to slide them there against your palm,
fingertips pressing slightly.

Give me a moment, love.
Give me a moment to hold you here,
in a thousand moments all molded to one.
For the gradual way my fingers slip between yours,
for the soft way I will lean up against you,
for the way I can’t hold my heartbeat still.

Give me a moment, love,
to catch the tears behind my eyes so that I do not sob to break the silence.
I will hold you forever,
in one moment.
I will hold you till time erases.

Love...

Give me just one moment to hold that heart of yours.
I have put it back together,
I have stroked the strings, tender and tender.
I have pieced those pieces of you, sharp against my skin,
and you are afraid to put it back in.

You have grown accustomed, my friend.
You have grown knowing, with that hole.
You have grown sorrowed.

My fingers may shake, as I sew,
as I trace them up your back too light but for an echo.
My fingers may shake,
before I grip you tight and twist my mouth away.
The tears will fall, my love.
They will trace down my cheeks and quiver upon my lips.

But I will not falter.
I will not stutter or hesitate but for you to see my eyes.
I Love You,
and you do not forget it.
I Love You,
and you do not fully know it.