some people are needle and thread
their souls over-used
by the hands of working men.
others are fabric itself
blanketing nations and beds
but never quite covering toes.
if i had to defile you,
confine your essence with words
i would write how your effervescent soul
fills a bathtub with bubbles
that reach for the ceiling,
filling the room
but are popped
– the perpetrator a smiling boy
you are an artificial tidal wave
as the ocean bellows next door.
+++++ Reality takes ++++++++