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.
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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.