Porcelain
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.