One Way Life

Sin ascends through my veins,

though I believe in your creed’s sacred refrains.

The silent empire is a cemetery

of gazes leading to captivity.

Your eyes illuminate my reflection,

your tongue’s mirror is my affection,

Memory, anxious, keeps your kisses near,

while the clock kisses time, year after year,

and time, indifferent, doesn’t reciprocate.

The clock tells time “I love you” in its state,

but time returns, cold, and won’t respond.

A lonely cloud floats between hills beyond,

and as I dream, I float between white sheets,

lost between the fleeting and eternal beats.

The articulation of statues

is miracle enough to pursue,

and the unlimited perspective

has traits changing and elective,

like the echo of a love that won’t return,

like a clock that ticks on, with no one to discern.