Reluctant hands lag behind the hour.
Recalcitrant arms beg for more
The nurse gently tugs at the bundle she won't let go.
Mascara runs as he's prized away,
to be someone else's son.
The hands of her clock dragged in this moment
to a silent
For years her choice of lipstick is fixed after this,
stuck in shades of Provocative Plum, Ruby Woo and Pretty Please.
Shimmering centre stage,
the 'good times' a protective gloss;
Not ageing as she should.
Decades later he seeks her out.
Clocks start ticking in her home once more.
She hangs up her party heels,
settles in to the sofa
and feels ...
the years flow back in.
She's all ears for him; lips parted (in soft neutral shades), her attention rapt, she listens.
The soft tick tock of the mantle clock
ushers her back to life.