An immortal woman, doomed to longing; a mortal man, her muse.
let my hand be your ring in the secrecy of our nights
if clocks insist on ticking, let them measure not hours but the nearness of our fleeting breath
i blink, and the skyline tilts again
what draws us closer is no cosmic riddle
the warmth of each falsehood
a desperate prayer to the deities of memory
even as forever quietly passed us by
the glass teaches me stillness
i won't apologize for the little quirks
