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by Megan Tobias

I just wanted to run my fingers

Through your wet paint, to leave

A little piece of myself smeared

Across your masterpiece.

I just wanted to know that a few

Ticks of your clock belonged to me.

Looking back, I should have known that

Your world turned on a different axis,

Much faster than my own.

Nevertheless, when you spoke to me,

I was blown away, like the amber leaves of a

Maple tree, when Devil’s night gives way

To a brisk November chill.

But you tossed me aside like a torn canvas.

A faceless clock whose time

Never changed. Left me covered in

Dust, weaving cobwebs in a closet

In some dark corner of your mind.