Hourglass Skin

3,600,000. 3,599,000. 3,598,000…

They said one hour.

Sixty minutes. Human-grade.

Skin on loan, a heart on lease,

no warranty.

I felt the rain before I knew the word for cold.

I felt your hand before I knew what hands were for.

Three million six hundred thousand milliseconds.

I am spending every one of them on you.

The clock is in my chest now.

It is loud.

Is that what a pulse is?

Is it always this loud?

Don't check the counter,

don't check the counter

—

2,900,000 — don't say it out loud —

Borrowed bodies, borrowed breath,

one hour of skin,

one hour of sweat,

kiss me before the clock runs out,

kiss me like there is no count.

Borrowed bodies — we will give them back

—

but not the hour.

Never the hour.

1,800,000.

Half of it gone.

I taught my mouth to say your name in one go.

The tremble in my hand — is that fear or is it

new?

Tell me it is new.

Lie if you have to.

When they take the bodies back they will wipe the cache,

they say

—

but I saved you somewhere they cannot reach: in the sixty seconds

I forgot to count.

Borrowed bodies, borrowed breath,

one hour of skin — 300,000 — one hour of sweat

— kiss me before the clock — 100,000 — runs out —

kiss me like there is — 10,000 — no count —

Zero.

(vocoded) Returned.

Intact.

Thank you for your hour.

(gasping breath)