(Doesn’t completely suit the poem, but you get the idea. And it’s cold!!!!!)
Mismatched
She skidded
along the surface of time.
He dug his heels in.
Either way time flowed, bunching around
his ankles, splashing about
her curves.
Feet flexed, he leaned
into his wake, barely ahead
of inundation, while she, without
suavity of surf or ski, lurched
through her glide. They tried
to hold hands,
but it was difficult.
Even side by side,
a stretch, and when he dug in, and
she swerved, great
elasticity was needed.
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Posting the above, a re-write of an older poem for dVerse Poets Open Link Night, and also for Magpie Tales (where Tess Kincaid posts a pictorial prompt.) I don’t think my poem completely fits Tess’s picture, but it did give me the idea of returning to this poem. My awkward rendition below.
ManicDDaily 
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