it’s like a hexagonal frame

that encompasses you, not just in the now

but you in the past, the present, and the future

it extends into the depths from which you emerged and into the depths of which you will inevitably be sucked into

and starts from the center of your vision

the core of your body

the tiniest ember that birthed the fire that is your soul

and it just whizzes past you

at a speed so fast you cannot even think to catch it let alone stop it

at a speed so slow that you witness this undoubtedly single frame multiply into thousands as it moves through you, past you, around you

at a speed or lack of speed so unrecognizable, so indistinguishable that it travels through all the bounds of time and laws of dimension

and takes you with it, but not alongside it as a companion

but caged inside of it as a prisoner

teasing you with all that it lets you see.

-S.P. Scarlett

At Unfamiliar Hours of the Day

at unfamiliar hours of the day

when the second hand ceases motion

and the minute hands gains speed

our moment is lost even before it appears.

these are the lost hours of the in between.

when our everlasting embers fade to the remnants of a dying fire

and the waning incandescence silently recedes out of the depth of our vision

yet lingers in the breadth of our souls

this is the last drop to fall from the leaf as the morning dew disappears

and the first bell to sound in the morning; the one that gets lost in our sleep.

in between the folds of our silently wrinkled sheets

in the same place you lost me.

where I fell in somewhere deep

deep into the gap between our fears and our intertwined feet

and now I float here, in this lost dimension

the in between of you and me

where at unfamiliar hours of the day

when the second hand ceases motion

and the minute hand gains speed

our moment is lost even before it appears. 

-S.P. Scarlett