allegorically inclined

Our story is skimmed through,
and months become minutes,
but i slow down when i am with you. Every sentence,
every word,
I drink in the material metaphors;
waist deep in the
imagery
of images we text each other at 2am, your words are
metred and their feet
trip the light fantastic
on my heart.
left to our own devices,
we create devices
that would make shakespeare jealous: but the most powerful of them all is
the
silence
of fingers touching
and the heavy breathing of
are-you-okay-with-this-because-i-hope-you-are
and the
ive-never-done-this-before eye contact and
us.

(this is a bit more prosaic than poetry, really I just chalk that down to the fact that actual poetry is a bit ... beyond me? feedback pls and make it your most cutting, i’m trying desperately to get better)

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edit: formatting!