the clock and i

i have you
in the white
of my palm.

yet,
your white face
scares me.



your soul is
an ever flowing,
bedless stream.

i drown in you.
your currents
pull me.



my life is
a rhythmic spell
within me.

your life,
a rhythmic spell
outside.



you never wait,
you have no friends.
neither do i.

because
you stole them
from me.



in you lies
a part of me,
dead and yet to be born.

but you lie
in the white
of my palm.



you hate the sun,
the spring, the laughter;
for then, you flee.

but you love me;
when we are alone
you stall....