"The future came..."

The future came. We didn’t greet our guest.

It waited by the door and turned around.

We sat down by the window. You undressed

And lit a cigarette. I read to you about

Two star-crossed lovers kissing by the gate

(You always loved my melancholy writing).

It must have been a Friday. It was late.

It poured outside. The sudden streaks of lightning

Lit up the room and all the space inside,

Between the kitchen table and the window

And if it wasn’t for the candle light,

Our furniture would surely vanish into

The pitch-black night. I took the final drag

And read the final stanza, dragging out

Each syllable as if to hold time back,

To stretch each silent second with a sound.