Time Zones

Before waking,
I wander, with you,
through the perfect meadow,
mid-day heat offset
by a gentle breeze,
that shivers loose tendrils
on the peripheral of your styling.
You lean into me,
a slight squeeze of your hand
announcing your request.
As I close my eyes,
imperceptibly parting my lips
in readiness...

I awake and bemoan
nature's timing.
The blue sky is gone
and I hear only grey.
The Zephyr becomes a gale.
Your hand rests
on a keyboard,
tapping out a request;
smiles and longing,
from 'yesterday'.
I zone in on your night,
as your tomorrow
arrives on the horizon.

By Chris Birrane © 2011