It was realizing I was in love
that set me five minutes ahead.
I became dislocated in the future.
I would leave the bathroom, still gargling,
and have to spit elsewhere,
upset with my mistake.
I would eat half a meal before it was served,
jump from the swing before getting on,
injuring my feet,
and fall asleep before reaching bed,
causing me to wake in disconcerting places,
five minutes before my alarm.
I was in the future, a tiny disaster everywhere.
Accustomed after months, I began finishing
her sentences before our conversations
could have even begun.
"Good idea," I'd say.
"Oh, I- I'm sorry. I should wait for it."
One evening on the couch, I became
very quiet. My being had gathered bleakly
with strange thoughts.
Alone, under my breath,
I apologized to her and said I understood.
She came into the room then, troubled,
and sat down beside me.
I sighed wherever I kept myself in,
and waited five more minutes.