My cerebral charm works greatly in my favour
But the inaction of your wit decapitates it and leaves it
Fleeting moments of embracing
Our own shadows
Show how we survived the war
And sank below our quacking self-obsession.
You have not seen that shadow in years
And to touch it would be to hug a mirror
With cracks and black soy dripping
Down to its steaming wall.
Each layer is laid down, as Caesar declared
And so we make a rule of slow
And lazy lolloping down our rhythms.
Your fizzing white wine spritzer caresses
Your black smoking Cerberus,
But it gets hungry and there's no
Chicken salad left.