I hear the tick of the clock
and think it is my heart
or a time bomb
or the slow ticking down
when the road comes to an end
coming or going
the gas tank
measuring distance
memory barely perceives
I hear the tick tock
and think of you
the mileage markers
I once count
when the bus weaved
through the mountains
to where you were
holed up
waiting for me to join
the gang
to feel your pulse
through the tips of my fingers
as they cup around you,
we imitating
the rhythm of life
the in and out
and up and down
the coming and going
movement that takes us nowhere
and yet everywhere
we ever wanted to be,
I feel the miles
wear on the tips of our lips
like the rub of rubber
on the road
that brought me to you,
that keeps on bringing me back,
even in memory,
that draws me into you
like a fruit fly
or humming bird
my wings buzzing
from the mere effort,
my heart ticking
this way
forever
until it stops
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