The Look

It’s that look.

Trying to be passive,
Like the burn of your stare,
Doesn’t set fire to her imaginations,
Like she doesn’t care.

It’s that look.

As if she’s not troubled,
At the realisation,
That she’s going to love,
Because love is devastation.

It’s that look.

Those pouted lips poised,
Like a gate rigged shut,
Giving her time think,
With her brain and not her gut.

It’s that look.

That says “back off”,
But also says “stay”,
Almost like a doll,
Yet her soulful eyes betray

It’s that look

Like hors d’oeuvres,
You absolutely adore,
A delicious treat leaving you weak,
And hungrier for more.

 

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All In A Day

Think of the paramedics

As they cling to the wounded

Batting off those angry and confused

By people in uniform

Trying to save a life

Elbows deep in blood

Returning home

Showering off the days work

Letting go of the one who died on the road

Brain leaking out upon arrival

Taking a deep breath

Deciding what to cook for dinner