every hour she's there. intoning in her very particular tone the hour and minutes.
she's there when i need her, at the flick of a button she annotates my day with the time.
she's there and every hour i think i'm falling more in love with her soft familiar voice.
if only she'd grace me with more than just the time.
if only she'd tell me of her hours spent doing french things in her french voice.
if i could only smell her soft hazel nut hair as she looked at the morning sun and said il est matenain sept heur sept minute....
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