a token of affection

wings of desire. on a chain.

My Dearest Karl sent me a lovely piece of jewelry, which offered both the time as well as his likeness, all in one special package.   A wing of aged brass jutted out the side, like our pullets when they run to escape the occasional fox who slithers in the hen house.

That I might always be aware of time, as it ticks unceasing, until we reunite.  That is, indeed, how he phrased it.

Ah, but all round me, evidence that love dies, and along with it, time becomes the cruelest marker.  Just ask Mummi!  She stares all too often in her gilt mirror, asking too many questions of her weary eyes.  Muttering all the while, “Why did I follow my heart, instead of my head?”

The odd turns of the heart were a curiosity, but in my new-found state of smitten, I vowed that my own heart would never grow cold.  Once I loved, I promised, I would never un-love.  As if in agreement the locket watch ticked against my breast.

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