Clocks fill the space and turn like the hour hand, no second feels safe because every moments ever fleeting. No time is enough, moments dash by but click into clarity. . . everything’s now in focus and the beat of the drum slows for the briefest of moments.
Blankets sit stagnate and passion dies like a fire, the cold seeps in and makes cracks through the floorboards. Teeth start to chatter, and shivering takes hold but a flicker of heat arises. . . everything ceases to quake and the warmth washes over settling for a while.
