There's me
And everything else
There's inside
And outside
And just a small thin layer
Keeping it all separate
Except, perhaps
The layer is made up
And we are all made up
As these words float up
As your feelings grow up
And this dust does not settle
Is this cheap or a petal, instead
Can you afford to consider it
The thought, not the flower
I mean. Though I suppose
Both are as beautiful
As they are expensive
When you really
Wrap your head
In deep.