Clockmaker

Let him past your face

& spinning hands.

Show him how you tick away.

Then he’ll fix your workings,

With his mending hands.

You’re running just like clockwork.

Never turning his gaze on himself,

The artisan slaves for you.

Selfless in pursuit of improvement.

The cold metal gears not caring

For the passion behind the touch.

Only craving the attention they need.

Is this unfulfilling and torture for him?

Yet there is there a beauty to the absurdity of his effort,

Committed to making sure things run smoothly.

As long as you’re still running like clockwork at least…