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Cuckoo Clock Heart

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Tick, tick, tick.
A mimic of the rains patter against soil tinted cement.
Tick, tick, tick.
Keeping time with the beating heart of both forms standing beneath the droplets.
Tick, tick, tick, goes his heart.
A racing pitter patter, new and painful in the location of his clockwork heart.
His soft, hazelnut orbs staring down at the raindrops rolling down her powder pale cheeks.
His own tinted a light rosy red, hands shaking from the bitter air swirling the cold shower around him.
Tick, tick, tick, goes the raindrops in her ears.
Her blank stare looking desperately around for the location of said echo.
A raise of soft skin and soon the lacing of fingers with ease pull her gaze towards where she believes her own hands to be.
Her voice, a bells soft chime comes with ease as she speaks.
The talk of the noise, the exchanged words of rain.
Tick, tick, tick, goes his heart.
Leading the unseeing eyes in the direction of shelter, the feeling of her warm skin against his comforting and yet urging him further into pain.
Tick, tick, tick.
The throbbing in his chest aching more and more as her fingers brush his palms.
Tick, tick, tick, the beating of her heart.
Her soft graze brushing the narrows of his slender cheeks, feeling for an image.
Tick, tick, tick, a cuckoo clock heart, ticking down until the beginning of its painful burst.






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