Ours is Film Noir

Never stop transposing
me with
           juxtaposition,
a porcelain so bright
the rim of their noses disappear.

Grains fall through this mask…

You looked at me
like amusements’ law
attracts by ways of architect;

hands stiff in hesitation.

That move could be the right one,
black on white, reverse the pons
and notice we are not the sun

but streaming,
    beaming
silhouettes displayed
for Socratic charades
somewhere in a cave.

I needn’t ask you to behave–
hands in your pockets
like your colour blind
to possibilities.

Your smile unreels,
I sigh in a symphony.

But this silence is bliss
so long as your next to me.

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About Robyn

"If you haven't known insanity, you haven't lived."
This entry was posted in Other Trivial Pursuits, Recovery (USA) and tagged , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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