[050618]

 

A drawer you do not depend upon

but are intimate with its secret contents,

compels some to delve,

to tickle your notions

and divulge the best of times.

I see, none matter but gifts for me.

Costumes ought to be meaningless,

we invoke our dreams with grasp.

Your dress is static, a fog or plane;

your talk, unless predatory,

has edges we may slide upon –

and isn’t friction what you were after?