100 poems/52 weeks challenge’ 2018
on spinning wheels
and the factory of smiles,
half-a-doll of infatuation
half-a-doll of love,
oh perhaps, of Bovarian dreams.
I would have absolutely despised writing on
but ordinary things contain cosmic affairs,
and now my heart,
is merely a misspelled smile.
A gentleman sitting on the stairs
the wind rattling behind the palace gate
that surrounds his soldier-shoulders,
do fall upon “looks”,
for you can read
eyes, brows, and tips of woolen hair falling over the forehead,
the words that often betray the book.