Clay

The glaze has soaked in;
Greenware feelings wanting the kiln.
I let you knead my unyielding mind,
Softening my senses by pressuring time.

Hands cradling, feet pedaling,
The moments rounded-out square.
The weight of your pinching fingers,
My thinning sides could not bear.

The glaze has soaked in;
Greenware feelings wanting the kiln.
the untouched vessel begging to be trimmed,
Sits on a shelf - busted pieces within.