Taste of Locks

Time comes to lick the teeth of iron,
a taste of copper and cold wind between metallic gums.
it speaks of closed doors, of forgotten keys,
and of a tongue that has no name but remembers.
Every scratch is an unsaid word,
a secret etched on a blurred map of bone and dust.
the forgotten doors breathe in silence,
whispering promises that never had a voice.
Time does not open immediately, it tastes, hesitates, lets desire graze the edge.
then places a breath of wind between the mechanisms and memory.
who listens among the teeth of the lock understands the weight of goodbyes,
and the key remains only a question to the day that departs.