The Man or the China Beaker

You hold deep waters still inside

Your porcelain pond, your little lagoon.

Outside your lines are unbroken, smooth,

Immaculate, white, un-dinted snow.

You have no hook to slip my fingers through,

So I will wrap my whole hand around you,

And make you fit in my grasp,

And make you fit like a glove.




© Laura Howard 2012