The Page is a Cube
We all have many layers
Underneath the surface is a nasty business
No wonder no one pares
Like a rubic's cube, or perhaps a jigsaw
We collide and intersect
Once you solved the puzzle, nothing else remains
The mystery's been wrecked
Like a empty page, or perhaps a white cloth
I paint with you, and you on me
Smudges that are washable, so I've heard it said
Are the very ones we cannot see
Contributors: | N, Karin, F, baoloa, . |
Poem finished: | 26th August 2003. |