This Will Be

I wrote of my love as if
    I was in an emergency. Pan had lured me
    into a Neverland death where there was
    no adventure—​it was stillness.

Patience there was a rare gold. As I lost
     by a unanimous decision, there was
     no lesson learned from this failure
     for the longest time.

The crocodile and its ticking noise
reminding me that the static, the lack
of movement, heralded doom. Yet I was
not Hook. I was Peter starting at myself
in that lagoon wondering when aging ends
and maturing begins. My inversely
proportional atoms. One towards
entropy and the other a quantum
staccato about regression.

Luckily, Wendy never found me, but, instead,
    it was you who let me kill
    time itself-- the clock
    stopped ticking but
    continued to move.

I wrote of our love while
we were in an emergency. Haste was
our lifeline. The rhythm of speed
is in our step now. I am grateful
for the danger where I stepped out
of shallow and plunged into depth.
There was only Everlasting.