Thursday, 26 January 2012

What we saw

Calluses are dreamt away.
Faces fit and fingers are still.
The lid’s arch flattens before sweat and matted hair.

Patterns are accepted.
Orders are givens.
Timing is everything.
Distances are set.

The room is furnished.
The catalogue falls open like a longing mouth.
There is a well kept path through the forest.

We are always fed our set portions.
Satiety is written in every other face.
Every other face is made complete.

You are yourself a picture of contentment.
You are a likeness, a silhouette to hand.
You are a comfort, a reason, a ready shoulder.

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