it must be Tuesday

 The clock runs backwards
while I’m waiting for your call
the day stalling in anticipation
for your voice on other end of the phone

And I’m not ready for this
the heart racing
want to throw up in my mouth
can’t stop thinking about you
insanity

Because I don’t know what I’m doing
here with you
I don’t know what I want
when your hand brushes my skin
in feigned platonacy
and we talk with the freedom
of lover’s post-cigarette
in the moonlight

You say you knew me
before you met me
but I don’t know you at all
and I love the adventure
your rhetoric represents
past the road signs to nowhere
because I swear I dreamed of you
someplace far from here
hands outstretched
telling me we could remake the world

But I don’t have the courage
to turn my mouth towards you
when your lips are pressed
against my cheek

So I close my eyes and pretend
I don’t feel what I feel

The clock runs backwards
while I’m waiting for your call

© Indie Adams 2016