Hourglass

She’s ticking

Marking away the fleeting time.

Counting the beats down to one.

Waiting for that last grain of sand to fall.

 

Oh she’s an hourglass

waist cinched tight

hipbones jutting

with broad shoulders she dislikes.

 

She’s ticking,

till that last drop cascades

and her breath runs out.

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4 thoughts on “Hourglass

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