Heeding the hum of clock machine that devours the time; second to second, minute to minute, year to year.

When the sunlight diminished as the gloaming night breaks the sky,
as the distance perpetually gets further,
as the Moon revolves around the Earth,
as the lapse between today and future erodes,
as the soul of mine remains unmoving—enfold self in this room still.

You set apart your body,
you move your wings away,
never even turning back.

Your stalwart step,
signs that you were never—
ever felt aspired nor sincere,
you have never felt them.

Have you ever felt something?
For me? Feel at least, align.

It has always been me,
who cherish whilst I know,
know what is precise,
that the feeling of thee is;
The opposite of mine.

Hence, me, myself,
could not ever blame,
nor my feelings or thee.

This dependence of mine,
is built of sincere and melancholy.
That latch until death do part.