Should I try to resurrect your cellophane
from sinking bottom bottle dry
knowing that truth has a way
of marinating into flesh with light
mailed to you by the moon
Knowing that deep down we’d
grown a silhouette apart

I put my fangs into your kingdom
left you to stand against the wall
Told you without a little pain
there’d be no poetry
and you'd know where you
could find my apologies

I was really nothing more than a tourist
perusing your poignant postcards
My own voice a fraud next to your ovation
My marionette mouth muffled next
to the power of your screams

Written by Sara Fielder © Jan 2016