Time is of the essence - Blaugust the Twenty-Second
The clocks bare their teeth at ten and ten— antlers of metal lifted in benediction, that camera-smile the watchmakers lacquer on, a porcelain grin to mute the mill of hours.
Under the enamel: a hush of dark veil. Numerals slick with sleep, ticks misfiring like bats. The dial grows a pupil; the minute-hand trembles, spelling a letter no alphabet knows.
Lean into the hinge of the face. Feel it breathe. For sixty beats the smile curls— and a door, thin as a whisper, learns your name.
I am the secret that skulks behind the watch's jaw.