10 O’Clock

When 10 o’clock comes,
you’ll whisper “Thank you for the pleasure.”
Your taxi will take you away,
second by second, mile by mile,
away from our strangeness, from our touch.
When 10 o’clock comes,
the present will graduate to the past.
The experiment over, the analysis will sparkle
in a flurry of whys, what-nexts, and hows.
But it’s not 10 o’clock
on the garish green screen,
so let me remain snug against you,
under a duvet dotted with dewdrops
in the cool darkness, in the soothing silence,
your protective leg pressing mine.
Let me absorb your warmth
just a few minutes more
until 10 o’clock.

Adrian Slonaker divides his time between Lancaster, Pennsylvania, USA and St. John’s, Newfoundland, Canada, where he works as a copywriter and copy editor, with interests that include nature, 1960s pop music and decaf coffee drinks. Adrian’s poetry has appeared in Red Fez, The Remembered Arts Journal, Squawk Back, Queen Mob’s Tea House, The Pangolin Review and others.

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