Timeless hands

You move with tireless lethargy
in a paucity of pauses. You hold time
in your hands with no apparent effort
and no apparent fear. But I fear I will
lose you… well, not you.
I can’t lose
you. You rarely stop but if you stop you
still matter. You have the power to
wake me up and you help me cook
my meals. You tell me I’m late
for the meeting or late for the party.
You ask do I dare, but the truth
is you’ve become a joke of yourself,
pretending to care. You’re a mirror to
myself as I get older, you’re still moving,
but your hands were never colder.
Though you seem in control, you have
nothing but timeless hands empowered by
my mind and my insatisfaction. Your hands
won’t budge unless I force them to