In every moment of every minute there is a second which has half of you attached to it.
So very slowing as the clock ticks by and in short I have been to you a billion times today.
Sensing the hastening of the world and the random madness therein; yet all movement here stops.
For in time there is nothing but the time as we shall see pass, not as it shall pass, nor as it shall see us.
Man, the co-creator, is imbued with the prophecy to engage himself in private life or death.
Self sabotages his own very nature, in cases where love is the profit, where he can see no cause greater.
Vastly clinging to his sense of dutiful self expression; clicking by, the watch does mock him so.
In you, the clocks stop and stare back at me watching and waiting for my next thought to pass.
They know it is up to me to decide which hour passes more quickly and which will draw long the years.
Love has a way of evening the score; it has no time associated except wherein the heart has pause.
At peace and yet, struggling to contain the moments back to their intended purpose and focus.
Finally collapsing into you I concede, the half that is me, in you, in each half second, makes time complete.