A Question Of Time

A Poem

Photo by Maycon Marmo from Pexels

What is quality time?
Is it a time that we enjoy,
or is it a time that we spent being productive?
This time can be spent in the murky shadows.
It can be spent in the salmon pink dawn,
pouring in through the window panes.
The borders melting and raining down
onto the chopping board full of onions.
Quality time was not meant to be,
physically I mean.
It kills me each time I let my
mind wander too far…
Milky tears…