To Miss. Dickinson
Confined your body, a
window seat in glass.
passion with folded hands allowed the world a glimpse
inside--
demanding obediance formed in
glass;
flows into molds inescapable,
but in words.
parlors of conventional reason.
a slow ticking clock and porcelan cup.
passions restrained crawling;
the watchful eye - your heart.
a kiss to see your eyes flash:
a tea cup falling;
the freedom of a possibility......
we escape
This poem is a draft yet to be completed. It needs a deeper study
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