Hands wore honey etched gold
to the smooth dulling of brass,
almost leaden, pebble-felt,
to be juggled in pocket
with more useful things.
Yet, it winds up, working
in a broken-beat fashion,
ticking a bittering sweetness
farther into the tarnishing fog
of a beautiful thing.
The companion piece softly lain
in a less than silken drawer
muffles imaginary time
past the event horizon.
Hands enwinding hands,
crystals swept together,
synchronized momentously
as undergearings whirred
to paths with broken chains.
very interesting images with the clock..and i like the synchronity without chains
When beauty fades and pleasures laid to rest. Is it a wake-up to the fact that nothing lasts forever, or that if we took better care of our love and watches, they would last much longer — perhaps even after your own demise.
Perhaps, my friend.