Timeless

My heart is
A 1950s movie,
Printed on film,
Sealed in tin,
Smelling of
Ozone and vellum,
Gently warmed by
The hum of
Electric light;
Click-clacking in
A familiar rhythm
To familiar timing,
Burning away at
The dust of yesterday’s
Misappropriated lust.
She’s semitransparent,
Like projections
On white-painted panels,
Whose seams
Create the illusion
Of overlapping
Worlds,
Converging as one.
My heart beats to
Your footsteps,
A battle-march
We once danced
Together,
Briefly halted,
Resuming apart;
Parking lot waltzes,
The lambada of public
Displays
Of personal shame,
And the final
Sagayan
Where winners claimed
Defeat.
My heart draws in
Hope
And expels courage
With every contraction,
Birthing new sweetness,
Driving rivers of
Richness
To universes afar.
She has grieved
As the widow,
Retired like the
Sun;
She’s rested like
Winter,
And resisted the
Fall.
I’ve dreamt of the
Wonders
Of digital age,
Of miraculous manifestations
By wizard and sage;
But naught can compare
To the golden age
Of my life:
When memories of a time
Long gone by
Consume my heart’s
Movie-house stage.
I await on my mark,
Willing the apparition
Reflected upon me,
To take his true form.
That timeless classic
Of bygone day,
Echoing off inner chambers,
Preserved by consciousness’
Seventy-millimeter,
Fragile, yet unfeigned.

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