The press of time

Photo by James Wheeler on Pexels.com
The press of time

If we were blessed with unlimited years,
none of times whispering press in our ears,
chance for reflection, to pause, take a breath,
no nagging thoughts of inevitable death.

My darling, I'd love you, at first from afar,
spend a Millenium admiring your star,
another light year before I told you
my feelings, enclosed in a sweet billet-doux.

Centuries more, I would take to describe
your beauty of which, long before I imbibe,
I'd gladly spend aeons, singing your praise,
decades explaining, you brighten my days.

Time though is short, for we all turn to dust,
live life while we can and must do what we must.
We both of us know that all things come to pass
So let's make some babies, here now - in this grass.

21 Comments on “The press of time

  1. Oh, it’s so charming, Hobbo, and rather convincing. Think you just helped a lot of your readers out in their next close encounter. Sure to be effective.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. It seems that as long as you’re not trying to be seen, you can do it on the grass, on a mattress, in a tree, on your knees, anywhere. It’s no longer an act of indecency. Those Law Lords did a thumbs up (or something went up).

    Liked by 1 person

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