Heartbeats Matching My Own Poem by Doris Cornago

Funny that we don't know the time of day

We play, we talk, we quarrel, and sulk

You are the boy making fun of forgetfulness

I am the woman livid with restlessness.


They cannot know fully what they can't own

We move fast by schedules on hallowed ground

Who is the leader, who is the follower

Down goes the ladder, and you seek cover.


Blood flows like icing on cake, thickly

Like a wraith, I come moving stealthily

Your quick eyes touch me, but they avoid mine

You're with them, feasting on cakes and wine.


If we will part, hold me for the last moment

Let me see your eyes as I've imagined them

Let me see your lips as they say the words

and let me feel the heartbeats matching my own.