the gift of humanity
is the claim by the self
and our lives
become poems we were born to tell
we shed time the way your body sheds weight
of days behind our now
but can you grasp it?
now, i mean
before then and soon all become
muddled into systems of feelings drawn out
by the same creature
who trained whistles and rails on time.
until then, or now at least
we’ll be wrapped in sun kissed skins
and i’ll give you mine
just in case.