Tumbling words of children became conversations
more slowly than we became two people to see as one.
The cheetah can run up to 70 miles an hour,
but we promised that time wouldn’t have a say in this.
We were inspired by the lack of syllables it took us
to understand the flawed or stormy attempts to explain-
my failings, the big empties, more and more obvious
that there can be conjured a mirage of seduction.
There isn’t room anymore for interrogation,
time doesn’t get a say in this.
But the scrambling words of a child are clearer than my second sight,
and even the cheetah must slow down to breathe.
We pride ourselves in the hurry but I need time.
I didn't get a say in why.
There's nothing anyone can say but I.
