R. H. McBride

In The Glassworks

In the glassworks and slide parade,
A craft fair of many feet,
Porcelain glow and rain rich red,
Midnight breath down my neck,
Blowing glass into senseless love gems,
I hold the sacred rubble in my pocket,
Examine our jeweled trash under light,
Warming our chaos between my fingers,
I kiss this dusted scrap of love
That will never make the etchings
Of a Valentine's Day card,
But you and I know that real love
Isn't written in glow-stick ink,
Nor is it the flawless first draft
…the single strike of the jeweler,
A love beyond electricity ...