In the whispers of cogs and gears, your presence lingers,
a phantom brushed with moonlight upon the satin of my soul.
With each tick, the heart clock beats softer than
forgotten lullabies, a serenade of clockwork dreams.
I hear you—almost, through the timeworn corridors
of an autumn misted life where every second is laced
with the fragrance of our spectral dances.
Where once, we stood beneath tangled clocks,
hands poised in delicate courtship, now,
mere echoes of our intertwined laughter
against the anvil of time.
Silent footsteps I follow, wrapped not in shadows,
but the luminous embrace of stars missed
when entropy unfurls its wings gently upon
our mechanical haven.