Measured in Seconds

I remember when we were newlyweds and the girl held onto me for dear life, every night. It is funny, the guys at work bought us a toaster, because she eats toast every morning for breakfast. Other people gave us gifts that it took time to grow into, like that clock with the second hand. Back then ever night was our honeymoon.

Time has a way of taking the edge off of things. Now I cling to the woman, and she wonders why. She is the most precious part of the collection. The printed sheets have become thin from the friction. But something like a trip and a small separation can bring all that magic back. We still have that clock, but life is not measured in seconds.

By Fitzgerald
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poetry