Before/After

What does it mean that my heart beats a little quicker every time I hear my phone go off?
Or does it skip a beat?
It used to Before, too, only I didn’t notice it as much then. And then After—
After it just stopped every time I saw your name on the screen.
There were only two weeks of After, and four of Before, and I can remember snippets of Before,
But every letter of After.
And the remembrances are sweet, sweet joy that I failed to see then but do now—
Now that I'm no longer there and can look back with fond eyes.
You sent shivers up my spine and goosebumps down my neck and gave me chills all over.
I was a bundle of nerves—
Of course, that was After. Before, you just put a smile on my face that was
More real than anything I’d felt before and couldn’t be wiped off.
I asked you once—it was After, a moment of raw emotion—what it was that you had done to me.
You smiled and called me by name,
Called me by name and asked me what, indeed, you had done.
I blushed—as I did around you, unceasingly almost, After—and said nothing.

I read this and it has no form or rhyme—can it even be called verse? But it is powerful feeling,
Spontaneous and overflowing,
And is that not what the one of the Greats said good poetry to be?
And it is recollected now, in tranquillity, long past the breathless rush of emotion
That flooded and held complete and absolute sway over the After.
You changed me and there is no going back, and now with every breath, with every heartbeat,
I wait.