He hides his lies,
like velvet folds.
Rich in colour, folded neatly.
Stiff and inflexible.
She presses closely,
like ice against water.
Transparent and clear.
Glassy and fragile.
Splintering, fracturing.
They stand jagged,
prisms of disillusion.
Complex and irregular.
Twisted and unending.
Bitter, vacuous voids.
No conclusion.
Voiceless visions.
Of what we both, are now.
Empty, silence.
Empty, silence.
Copyright 2019 Deborah M. Hodgetts