In the aisle air lies the smell of honesty from filthy hands
Along lurks deceit in subtle stance
One evolved from hardly reaped beans
The other is sprayed by gloves in billious-green

And so they dance around the weary noses
Eager and revulsion awaited to be ****** in
One's scared of exposure
The other of sin

An illusionistic pas de deux
The people overly drained to grasp
And they never will

Or will they?
I will be waiting for the epiphany
Until the birds cease to fly