the usefulness of Pyrex
this dish: hum empty
panning the air for a rush of you
a dash of matter;
reflects my face back at me
a terrible melange
formless, fearful
.
(you draw out a chair. Point a pen. Place papers perfectly.)
.
swirling air settles
mettle dust; a bloom of yellow.
Pyrites grinds my carteledge with every step:
a cold taxis steels me to wait for gold.
i slice apples into the dish. The oven ticks as it heats.
tiny nothing of things 
There is a kind of meticulous control, attention to detail, almost like meditation which hides and reveals great depth and power of emotion, like a moment just before,
I can hear the ticking oven. Nice to see it in words. Moving poem, interesting thought procession, march of thoughts, marshaling of thoughts.
Just checking in. Your work is amazing.
thank you sweetie
?
i dunno. those
3 words feelright.
this is indescribably fantastic. the tension is agonised, the sounds, when they occur, even more so .. like the silence just before sleep when every noise is accentuated
the build up to a boom and the ache for gold … yes, yes, wait for gold … creation and temptation sliced in the painful wait, tick-tocked, for something to happen, passion to implode or self-destruct ..