In the future
maybe
I'll see the tell-tale
red swish, whirling
across your other knee,
the hip shift that bends
spoons, and the strange
glowing dribble,
that pools beneath
marmalade feet.
These days, I start
to wonder, apprehensive
of your attitude of motion,
charged, eerily undefined.
But I reckon
there are cobwebs
'tween your legs, lounging
lazy 'midst the tanned
spokes, suspended by
the flash, frozen mid spin.
In the future
maybe
you could change
your picture.
In the future
maybe
I'll see your face.
