I  reached   for   your   hand.                           So far.
I swear, my fingers grazed the back of your shoulder.
And we can stay like that forever,     as we’ve always
been, now that time is  freed  from  the clock’s  grip,
from his clutching hands, tearing,  tearing,   tearing.
Well  I’ve  been   torn   open,   and though she hides
behind  grey  eyes,  the  moon  fires her arrows into 
my ribs with marked clarity. I  wish  I  could  take  a 
slice  of  her  for  you  to  see  through. I still see us 
wading by the fieldside.    Clouds between our toes. 
Star-crossed, I forgot, and landed in your lap again.