You say I am a quick changer,
too many faces, too many places
for you to hold on to.
You grasp and squeeze too tightly,
I schmooze and ooze between your fingers,
you shake them off, amazed.
You watch with fear, succumbing,
my crafty craft molds your audience,
first one thing and then another.
You want to walk away, maybe run,
but you are too mesmerized by me,
my many masks, entertaining.
You soothe me into dreamy sleep,
upon your bedside perch you search
the secret doors of my hidden faces.
ampoule, July TwentyFirst, TwoThousandTwelve