living on wonted things
soaring on stolen wings
sound of engines die
before it reaches the sky.
Bernoulli-he must have his way
metal containers whacking the air away
below
eye weds a tear
lips unable to sneer
you can’t help but spend time
in front of the mirror,
and your glass of wine
is no match for the tea poured in cups made of mud.
The hello , the polite conversation
The soft, firm handshake and a rosebud.