Our Timeing is All Wrong.

The ticking of the clock edges my nerves. 



Time for love? 

Time for you.

Time for me?

It is half past midnight and there is no availability. 

Chiming clocks echo through our distance.

Had you thought of me?

Seconds showing all resistance.

The hands edge our way, my heart vibrates with each tick.

My thoughts plummet further with every tock.

Mucky waters and sifting sand; without a destination our end is surely meek. 

And with no direction there’s no where for us to flock. 

Except blindly towards the sounds of the clock. 

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