(no subject)
Inside my chest I have buried
your wristwatch, still ticking tucked
beneath this flushing flesh: the collected hours,
the complete minutes, the unabridged
afternoons, the nights and mornings, too.
Inside my chest lives this clicking this automatic
this magnetic machine. A pair of hands
wringing, a face unchanging. In other bodies,
other blunders, other wonders. When I lean you down
to listen you say how surprised you are to find
yourself alive, elsewhere. How unimaginable, this room,
but still. You would know it anywhere. The ticking.
Unmistakably yours, you say, and lean against a door
you cannot enter. And how sweet you are, ear reassured
by familiar, recurring sound.
your wristwatch, still ticking tucked
beneath this flushing flesh: the collected hours,
the complete minutes, the unabridged
afternoons, the nights and mornings, too.
Inside my chest lives this clicking this automatic
this magnetic machine. A pair of hands
wringing, a face unchanging. In other bodies,
other blunders, other wonders. When I lean you down
to listen you say how surprised you are to find
yourself alive, elsewhere. How unimaginable, this room,
but still. You would know it anywhere. The ticking.
Unmistakably yours, you say, and lean against a door
you cannot enter. And how sweet you are, ear reassured
by familiar, recurring sound.