On the nights he dreamed–
of her
he nailed her braid
to the desk next day
using her fountain pen
to skew her
–the pen she lent him for graffiti–
watching his reflection
in glass stained with
afternoon sun
(and prisms)
and sweating from exertion
(pointless)
the love she inspired
like breath
was hidden
in the glow of pride
he inspired
–in the manner
subtext
is lost on
the literal.
Comments are closed.