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

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