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Weather, Clocks, and You

by J. DeTalente 13 days ago in love poems

A poem

Weather, Clocks, and You
Photo by Artem Beliaikin on Unsplash

instant is a forecast promising no umbrellas, but clouds are known

for never holding, anything back,

so your socks get soaked in a word

with an empty meaning

Instant coffee means waiting on water

brought to a boil,

means two tablespoons,

one for sugar, one for powder,

then the stir,

minutes pass from one instance

to the next

instant rice calls five minutes microwave

time, the butter must melt

the rice must cool

so you don’t burn your empty stomach

both instances

are puddles


paper sunshine smiles

they say we can be gone

in an instant

yet it takes us years

to get there

they say back in a flash

back in a jiffy

be right back

but even if the second point

is the beginning and the end

there is still distance

connecting the two,

there’s still space

between seconds

no matter how small

I am tiny

I am fucking insignificant

I am begging for purpose

I am begging for my next breath

to mean something other

than a sigh of continuence,

you are tall, so fucking tall

I want to sit on your shoulders

stretch me out on the ground

make me ten feet high

place me on your shoulders

so I can give eskimo kisses

to the smiling sun and cool down

the way august burns the bottom

of children’s feet during the last week

before pools close and books open

I am a man trying to figure out

what the fuck being a man means

in 2019 tell me I’m not a job title

tell me I’m not a car brand

tell me it’s okay to fucking cry

in public places because I wake up

every day with a forecast calling

for sunshine and I need the umbrella

I forgot by my empty coffee cup

tell me I’m not a paycheck

because I bleed overdraft receipts


the bank tries to repossess what’s left

of my soul, I can no longer find what I’m losing, I can no longer hide what isn’t found

when you look at me, see me,

when you look at me, wink,

do anything but blink

twice because nothing is ever gone

in an instant, but every beginning and ending is a distance between two points


even seconds have spaces between them

I’m so tiny

I’m so insignificant

I feel like I will be lost

somewhere between boiling water


liquid powder

so whatever you do





love poems
J. DeTalente
J. DeTalente
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