The Stone Faced Fish

I sketched as she told me of her dream: the cup of tea,
the stone faced fish,
the mulberry leaves set to fall…

my colours were chosen for her alone
but I know she will sigh
then speak slow words like these:
yours is a life lived without metaphor,
guileless you offer me your shoddy
as if it were a gift though, I could never love you.

At that point I will cry
then freeze those tears to use on some other woman.

A poem by Paul Tobin  (Visit MagpieBridge)

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