Alphabet Soup Minuscule

J.C. Scheff

In The Times Passing

In the times passing,
I am the slender hand on the clock.
Moving slowly, I smile soft,
Closed mouth smiles.
The portions of my mouth folding together just enough to feel.

In the times passing,
I close my eyes and walk,
Feeling only the sun on my back,
An itchy sweater on my chest and,
The cold sting of winter slapping my face.

I tilt my head back and up at the flannel gray sky,
Softly touching my throat,
Just enough that it tickles.

There is a different kind of order in the times passing,
One that was displaced for a while.
Now, a new sense of responsibilities,
And a need to propagate me.


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4 thoughts on “In The Times Passing

  1. Not only do you write well, but your true secret is that there is a sexy tone in your manner that men–and surely women as well––find intriguing. Even here the itchy sweater on your chest and the tickle of the flannel-grey sky in your throat shows an innate and innocently expressed sexuality. Rare these days in the world of exhibitionism.

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