For you a house of glass
trimmed with ribbon candy,
sand and sugar alike-
translucent sheets under my blowtorch.
For you an empty house,
filled with light and nothing more,
a safe space, a homeland
brittle and sweet.
But be careful no one knocks
at your door,
for (however small her fists may be)
the shards are sharp.
It would be quite a mess.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment