Time Looks Up to the Sky by Case Duckworth
I wish I'd kissed you when I had the chance. Your face hovering there, so near to mine, your mouth pursed - what word was it you pronounced? When I think about you, something in my pants tightens, and my thoughts run, and I realize I should've kissed you when I had the chance. I want that moment never to be past like Keats's lovers on the grecian urn: his mouth pursed, her figure turned to pronounce her hips in ways that are not feminist. But time strolls mildly on, not glancing at my wish to kiss you when I had the chance, whispered like a beggar to a prince outside his palace: time looks up to the sky, purses his lips, and hears what I pronounce but pays it little mind. If he would just turn back, bend down, and follow my design, I would have kissed you when I had the chance, as your mouth pursed and you pronounced goodbye.
The stimulating, scintillating ISSUE 5 of the punch-drunk-good Nude Bruce Review is live y'all. Dig in.