Banished to a softer place
Where, occasionally, people see your face,
Weak sunlight, glossed in gown of lint
Presupposes blandishment.
Soft light thinly falls in shade
Wherein forgotten promises are made

The weaving web of discontent
In graduated soft lament,
Where glistened tears slide down your face
Dispensing all the grace, displaced,
Dispensing all the hurt, contrived,
Within your carmine lies, derived.

Saturnine, in coiled retreat,
Supine in momentary heat
That thee would do what must be done
Within thy limitations, spun
But lost to all who, sad, perceived
Thy caustic fabrication bleed.

M@Foxglove.Taranaki.NZ
6 February 2025