Apple pie and coffee on the sofa
with violins, poetry, art, passion
and the small table of heart’s desire,
four eyes and wouldn’t I, or you and we
sense how it rests inside
covered with hammered rust:
consider the beauty:
a key in the forged gate!
Attracted to discover weird insides:
her and the other thing. Or see four hands,
or three when one is stuck, two if entwined,
start eating skin and bones. Pure poetry!