Time is living under my desk
he moved there some years ago
He likes to torment me by coming
and going, and coming again.

And sometimes he tickles my toes
It is out of boredom, I think
He does it when I ignore him
And his popcorn-fed lies

Occasionally, I think I see him
peeking up at me from the shadow
blinking curiously, moist azure eyes
I suppose it is just light on my carpet