We’re standing on the edge of time –
The vast, eternal now.
And, though each second seems sublime,
They fail to pass somehow.
I breathe the air that you breathe out
While you breathe my air in,
Which counters every single doubt
Which holds that this is sin.
What rule of law, what moral code
Could say that this is wrong?
It’s straighter than the straightest road
And endlessly as long.
Each day’s as perfect as the last,
And, in our future, lies the past.
Photo by Jessica Hearn on Unsplash
