the wax paper


We’re porcelain thought

and porcelain grief

We’re amateur lovers

Professional thieves


And so, if I’m porcelain

Treat me as such

A fool and a slave

To your porcelain touch


Before us, behind us

Our paper and text

This thing that imbibes us

this porcelain sex


It takes us together

by taking apart

The weak that is hidden

In porcelain art


So long to the music

Goodbye to the truth

And I’ll long for the muse

Of my porcelain youth

Miguel Eichelberger writes out of Vancouver, Canada with his authoress wife. He is a traveler, highwayman and untrained flautist. His poetry has appeared in literary magazines on three continents and his first play, Cave, was shortlisted for the 2015 Vancouver Fringe New Play Prize.