a perfect fifth

the earl grey's gone cold
and the dust has settled
tiny specks on your eyelashes
bordering those hazel eyes

time's stopped
hectic has gone to antarctica
where the penguins are (right?)

and the rhythm of the waves
soft breezes whispering
the clanks of old metal

deep breaths
slow and heaving
another week closes
with a few hours (of happiness)
two lonelies together

the black wristwatch is frozen.