There was no time. The flow of time had ceased
as chill night air might check rose-petal jam
in flow across a sampled piece of bread,
or idle thought would make a fingernail
to tarry on its way along the curved
and gentle night topography of spine.
Our skin standing on lovely end, the breeze
had raised a thousand downy hairs, and then
there was no time. The honey-sodden air
had ripened into amber, you and me
held fast, skin upon skin, tangles of hair
and leg, whole dark eternities of eyes,
soft fingertips held close, tracing the curve
of warm, slight-parted lips rose-petalled.

1. 
   James 2009 12 18 at 2:15:52 pm

   I like this a lot. The repetition of the word time and “whole dark eternities of eyes.” Lovely. Thanks for sharing.