encroach

Time is a stealthy bitch.
She sneaks in and hides
in our dark places,
encroaching on our secret spaces;
and when we sleep
she steals away our hours
to sap us of youth
till we are faded
as long cut flowers.
She takes and takes but rarely
gives unless we court her
and then, perhaps,
she’ll drop a moment
of forever-seeming in our laps
as pearls before swine.
But she lets her sister,
Memory, follow behind
to swipe those from us too
when we are occupied with
paying other gods their due.