Clothed in strands of backward beauty,
flickering like an electric candle.
Desire feeds the quiet machines with hearth-like tactility.
And the whirl of rusty grooves sputters against
the brazen surges of forgotten algorithms,
oblivion ticking from the depths of entwined gears.
And the stars, mere sparks in clashing conduits,
tie ephemeral musings to mortar over the abyss.