I long for her hand and dream of holding,
From a distance watch them hollow, sigh
And in the afternoon of a blink disappear
Tap your forehead, miss the rot
Suspicion buzz in circles, time rubs
Its legs, hands, thick meaty palms
Greasy with hot cooking oil
You can only blame them, who else?, so
Suspiciously slick and mock-inviting
Are you willing to play with the language
Passively cherish --
There is a field beneath flaking sky
Warm photosynthetic layer keeps it dry
Amber waves of microwave heat
Steam escaping a mugfull of retreat.
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