The way you look at me,
Is the way I looked at you –
Honey dripping from the comb,
Wet as servitude and naivety,
Devoted illusions of the eye,
Statistically happy and bled,
By the book and by the look,
Having and wanting empty shells,
A thousand likes, a thousand hells,

Then I stopped to see to see,
And that fly that was buzzing,
Flew far, far from me.

© A Fantazien Window 2023