in spectacles language of rust to be wiped away sand letters by sea
one day as planned I'll be the prism my colour chart sprayed
on the walls fruit salad of a room made familiar your mouths a shock of smile
my fingers un-twitching the precise words unrolled from my throat not these but
Written: August 2019. Explanation: A poem written in my own time. Feedback welcome as usual. A link to my Facebook writing page can be found on my HP home page.