Always hidden away
Your emotions
Wrapped up tightly
Suited for business
But not pleasure
Dressed in midnight
Funeral attire
Save for the splashes of blood red
The everyday noose
The gloved hands
Perhaps your own funeral…
But would you wear a hat
To your own funeral?
Why do you hide
Behind the most tempting of fruits?
Your Adam
To my Eve
As the clouds bear down
And the ocean hums
A thought arrives…
Perhaps it’s my funeral for which you’ve dressed…
The glove fits
Tori Burris Inkley
4/14/24
(painting by Rene Magritte 1964)
Tori Dreamer 