I place my faith in it; a promised land
(and only yesterday, we synchronized
our wall clocks and wristwatches).
Dear, if it's quarter to eight in the evening,
then it's fifteen minutes to eight in the evening.
Please, not an agonizing millisecond more,
not an excruciating second more
than our agreed upon, appointed time.
Dearest, it's a thin line between on time and late;
a razor-thin line, between on time and late.
Check out My Personal Anthology (12 Poems).
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