Tick Tock

September 12, 2010, rainy.

The lapse of time is unsteadly slow,

yet exceedingly fast just the same.

Though time is only slow in retro-spect,

it's often too fast to catch.

Time passes. Even when it seems impossible.

Each tick of the second hand aches,

the pulse of blood beneath a bruise.

Passing unevenly in strange lurches and dragging lulls.

I lay alone,

surrounded by the still,

black abyss of my mind.

There, your face twinkles above me.

You shine.

Stars so seemingly close, but still unreachable.

The light glowing down on my outstretched hands.

Clawing at the sky, but unable to grasp the source.

My heart ticks in time, to the groan of the planks.

It is but a clock.

Counting not the day,

but the moments since that last touch.

Passion in fingertips

the world has not yet rendered.

Promises unspoken by lips,

that plead for fulfillment.

Tick tock. I drift further.

Tick tock. Two more moments without.

My heart is but a clock.

It's muscles and nerves,

the gears and pins.

A machine. A tool.

But a clock is meaningless without time.

Without time, a clock would simply count.

Valueless decimals discarded and alone.

My heart is a clock, and you, you are it's time.

Giving purpose to a machine,

empty when lacking you.

Your sweet song, the harmony to my meter.

Breathing life into the inanimate.

Tick tock. My heart awaits.

Tick tock. As I lay on the edges of time.

Tick tock. My heart beats.

Tick tock. Forbiddance dances on the edges of time.

On the edges of my heart.