I am inundated with irony,
stuck in the spell of satire,
my eyes can’t see cars
free from the metaphors of stars,
but this evening
me and you

(we’re speeding compartments of light)


and eyes





you see,
you are my subtle hue
you are the coloured iris that enfolds my hollow pupil,
opening and closing in front of me like
hands catching sand in the sun by the ocean.