​

the longer hand of the clock

works its job    done most of

the insertion with its arrow

aiming for the best spot

and the groans get louder

reaches for the peak of the

shorter hand and then   dings

clicks its self that succumbs

to the pleasure of the hand

veering clockwise to twelve

   singing its ABCs   another

loud groan and the clock goes

wild    eyes open   hands washed

with soap  /cherries/  smelled like

fabric stain remover    eyebrows

flutter   lips curving to smile

the dopamine rushing in