Framing Saturn

Pernicious counters clicked and cogged from the four walls of the clock. 

Stale hands stuck, to the rolling face of numbers 

Orange and warm, penned of burnt umber. 

Frozen in time, what does a ceiling see, 

In the placement of a memory facsimiled, or downloaded? 

She stared, somewhere out of the window––in the distance far away 

Peeking out of blinds wishing the world to gray. 

He peered, somewhere along the highway 

Dreaming in-between headlights 

Tracing lanes to a neon skyline 

Speeding by on what's left of time. 

The world was what it wasn't... 

A shelved mind of annoyances, spellbound by coven lips 

Stars permitted cedar scents of death's smile under coffin lid. 

And are we bashful? while painting Saturn. 

Could we frame, what we've captured?