I could set a clock by the signatures
of minutes when I think of you,
and make better time than this city bus could.
I could go careening down Columbus
south along a blue whale lake,
and track the tick marks of the seconds
that tap a very quick tattoo.
On a compass of you straight to
State Street out of red, then mere feet away
pause by the bus stop, just before the city
knuckles up (approvingly, I like to think)
and delivers me in increments
to Michigan and Madison
to Van Buren and Plymouth
to State and Monroe
to the intersection where you first kissed me
in the center of a heart throb
of the city that I love.
I keep count on the thought of your fingers,
and bookkeep each strand of your hair,
‘til the southbound bus catches up to me at last
and envies every flawless second
I keep when you cross my mind.
My heart, wound up, the perfect time piece.
danitruedat 
Beautiful