Expect a magistrate,
my deus ex machina replacement
when I zone out as we're talking, my beautiful one.
Perhaps a tailor,
festooned with measuring tape
to act as your envoy when I have checked out, mon petit cher.
At last, a math genius
fresh from Mumbai
to complete the needed Trinity you desire, sweet enchanter.
I will leave you with my legal codes,
my paper pattern,
my formulae,
So that you might animate my double,
quantified, tame to the bone,
a wedding cake figure to replace me when I've gone.
Lol, shay. I'm glad your eyes zoned out when you looked at my title to provide the inspiration for this. Very cool write!🙂
ReplyDeleteWonderful voice and tone to convey volumes not-quite-said.
ReplyDelete. . . when I'm gone. . . .
ReplyDeleteYour style never fails to amaze, dear Shay, with its simplicity and its twisty and wry depths. This one says so much about expectations, masks and hearts, without a stutter or a flaw, let alone something as mundane as a cliche. Excellent work.
ReplyDeletePS Also, thanks for not making the text pink! I can actually read the white, which helps when dealing with a poem. ;)
ReplyDelete