Tricksters of a Memory
I love polygons even as they are irregular
Within the tangled space and time
Rich angles become decisive corners
Tricksters of a memory
It was tender congruency at first sight
Delightful and captivating solid cubes
Even as they drooped into prisms
As they vanished into hues of essence
They trembled at degrees of tender touch
Fear not trapeziums of death
Dread not time exhumed from a tomb
She falls in upright squarish
Die, pentagon, rest hexagonal pretty rod
Wither on decagon fading acuteness
Oval memory is with cylindrical insight
Beauty weeps bulkiness of the volume
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