You hold sadness close to your face <br />like a precious petal of fading light. <br />Such slopes and curves please my eye <br />even with so little emotion to divine. <br /> <br />Portioning your hope in the sliver <br />with botox certainty duly taunting <br />until the boredom heaps on top <br />to creak the flex of your bones. <br /> <br />In the reflection of your iris, <br />I catch glimpses of your bounding <br />past behind the poise and <br />disappointment held firm now <br /> <br />upon your cemented jaw clutched <br />firm in deception for survival, <br />able to taunt the serpent before <br />cracking his skull into the wall. <br /> <br />As you pack up your journey <br />a gust billows through me to <br />warn of discontent's message, <br />idle hands shall wrench until raw.<br /><br />John Weber<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/across-the-aisle/
