The camera flash flashes away my sight of you,
aided by the hovering, caterwauling middle-agers,
parents of rushing children, despite their own failure
to reel in their mouths, and yet your words still
paint themselves in my mind, sponsored by your unwavering image.
The reason is the pouring of your heart, cogs, springs
and fate line into my lap so I can cradle each one
in reason and warmth, judgement free.
Alas, the world wants to block you from my ears,
so to quiet we must go, where my attention
can blanket you fully.
Treeshallow Musings 