MAGNETIC HOUR

MAGNETIC HOUR

I sense the path you walk—

it bends, iron filing to my blood’s quiet magnet.

Your distance is a frequency I hum;

the air between us crystallizes into chords.

North of my sternum, a compass rose

spins, spins, spins—

until the poles melt and drip down my ribs.

Time we talk is a silk worm

spinning non-time inside its mouth.

We trade minutes like pearls of mercury,

slippery, orbiting, impossible to hold.

It’s all an illusion, yes—

but the illusion has teeth,

and they glitter with our shared saliva.

Bite down: the future leaks out,

tasting of thunder and crushed violas.

Let the world go liquid static—

skate on the waveform,

boots of light, hearts of sonar—

echo locating the exact moment

when now folds into forever.

Midnight rewinds; we un-speak each word,

suck the mercury back into our lungs.

Your silhouette demagnetizes—

a slow-motion iron-dust farewell.

erofyreb otni sdlof won…

Magnetic hour, magnetic hour—

we peeled it like an orange,

sections of impossible clock-face

spilling lunar juice on our wrists.

The compass settles.

I point toward wherever

you’re not.

The rest is just iron in my blood

learning to rust.