Absolutely enthralled with the idea of the world on hold,
he moved slow, hands inching as she waited.
He played with a thought, picked it up,
turned it over like a heavy box of gold
and watched the light hit different corners of the room,
like a spinning coffin in a tomb,
an idea wrapped and embalmed in the dark of his palms.
A dead idea, he was taking too long and she noticed,
and (we all know this) sometimes saying nothing is firmer than any
sound,
and hesitation is the gravitation keeping chances on the ground.
His silence was an answer, and the world started to spin again
without him, and he tried to catch the earth
but it was cinnamon,
blowing all over with each breath,
and he coughed and she scoffed and moved on.
The chance was gone,
she kissed another.