Corsets
Your fingertips slide across
The time of day.
You watch the seconds pass
As you argue with the cantankerous hands
Of the clock she bought for you and you alone.
It's that time at last.
She says, "Darling remember, four o'clock sharp."
In a timbre that lingers through you body
and exits out from your eyes.
The thought resonates the true emotion of that time.
That place and time.
Your lover, she wrote to you.
In a hollow sarcastic tone that read as if it meant
"I never want to hear your name again.".
A frozen slate of world, begging to be etched.
You hurt when you are reminded,
But hurt worse when you forget.
The sequestration of emotion
Your solemn mind has made.
She can now turn her head away from the clock,
That intimates the pain.
A thought drowning in the depth of memory,
Foreseen but not embraced.
The lover left the unlovable.
Now there's no time for hate,
Because it's daylight savings dear.
So it's only Three o' eight.
Copyright © Frank Cipriani | Year Posted 2009
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