spin

Paper-thin strands twist together for strength,

I tug one away; you pass your turn.

Consider the breeze through a torn screen,

dirt browns the windows, screws, back-thrown,

to a different century-turn, to the color of an age advancing.

The dark inquiry sets only emotion in motion,

Yet always only the mundane recoils the paper, untugs the turn.

The blinkered blasphemies opposing love true are thus, forever.

Cream my coffee, shade my eyes, paste my brush.

These the pressed petals in the book of randy romancing.