I'm in the middle of thinking about something else. I wrote this when a friend of mine died, as a way of hiding from it, really. It isn't about her. It's about something entirely different. Fear of loving, I think. I just wanted it somewhere I could find it. I might have posted it on here before, but if I did I didn't tag it properly. Sorry if you've seen it before! Like I said, it's not relevant at the moment, but I just wondered where it was.
Wrap me in cotton wool: don’t let me touch
You lying there in your matchbox disused -
Where your sting’s curled in tight to your belly
And your hands are balled in to your heart.
You – circular, insular involved in
Yourself – don’t let me close, to protect
By entrapping, in an empty case
Once so full of quickened fire but no more.
You didn’t hide me or smother me
Or sting me and drive me back from you.
You didn’t move, and I closed the trap:
Your empty shell now lies in my lap.
A Visit to the Mauviel Copper Cookware Factory
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