Across The Aisle Poem by John Weber

You hold sadness close to your face
like a precious petal of fading light.
Such slopes and curves please my eye
even with so little emotion to divine.

Portioning your hope in the sliver
with botox certainty duly taunting
until the boredom heaps on top
to creak the flex of your bones.

In the reflection of your iris,
I catch glimpses of your bounding
past behind the poise and
disappointment held firm now

upon your cemented jaw clutched
firm in deception for survival,
able to taunt the serpent before
cracking his skull into the wall.

As you pack up your journey
a gust billows through me to
warn of discontent's message,
idle hands shall wrench until raw.