You beautiful trap,
With your porcelain jaws,
And your red-hot tongue
Lashing out angrily
Into my heart.
Does it matter that you never see?
Does it matter that you cannot feel?
That you’re so far away from yourself,
You cry?
Yes my little weaver of dreams,
Cast your spell and watch it grow.
Hold it in your hands,
Use it for all you need, and
Be sure to throw it away,
When you’re through.
Sandra Osborne
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/when-you-re-through/
