TICKTOCK

Behold, this past and present friendly face
in a brief evening's span transmogrified
to signal lover, future tense.

The mind-clock stutters, slows and stops;
the unexpected tension coils and winds.
 
The clock intones: take your time,
though time may none too gently
take you, mould you, measure out
your minutes and your years
The task remains:
pass the time, though time passes you
choose the time or time chooses you'
ticks questions of time,
tocks answers of lovers.

Always together, tick with tock

And was there ever a moment
when time was tethered, tick-tock tied?'
Ah, yes, a precious instant
an all-too-brief eternity
when aeons birthed and died
when stars, galaxies brightly burst
and suns engendered
glorified a universe with light
and in the fluttering fall of lashes
and the opened secret of colluding lips
time was tamed.
With a flick of skirt,
and a backward glance awash with wonderment,
she leaves this chanced on man behind.

The clock ticks on this changeling night,
the motor sputters, and the car drives on.  

Time passed, and passes still.

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Cover picture:  http://www.flickr.com/photos/7911705@N07/2210385051/