By Gerrit Bos
Mechanised hands, the passage of time.
The eternal moment, the righteous crime.
Thawing hands frozen when their eyes first met.
Nothing can stop, infinity will let.
Their lips will never meet. Yet need they though?
Forever each other they will always know.
They shall never want nor will they ever need.
Suspended in this feeling together:
and, in time, as one forever.
Image by Frank McKenna