deepundergroundpoetry.com
The Watchmaker's Lover
Your clockwork appendages
were cold to the touch.
The industrial complex of your mind
was grating gear against gear
where the unoiled
works kept clacking away; your atrium
was a tick-tocking machine
that counted the hours while the rust settled in.
The mainspring spiraled round
your mechanical heart tensed
so tightly it showed in your face,
in your quivering hands,
your troubled eyes;
the unlubricated escapement never released,
oxidized into place
from ages of neglect.
The joints of your fingers corroded
with arthritis and green rust
curled around curls
of ebauched neophytes uncalibrated
to your pendulum swing.
Your flinted eyes filed flaws away,
groomed for the fluxing process.
Oscillating gears locked into place,
before your backlash recoil
forced the dual mechanism apart
with shallow breaths emerging from beneath
tangled sheets
until dawn glances from the window
and your mainspring rewinds itself,
annealed,
awaiting the next night uncoiled.
Published 6th Dec 2011
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