Ok, so I wrote this weird little poem.
When my little boy sleeps
When my little boy sleeps, his lips relax;
they relax and gently hold their pure and full shape, full and plump as a rosebud heavy with the moistened sigh of spring
There's no tension in them at all, no taught-ness, no pursing -
When my little boy sleeps, he doesn't purse his lips
He doesn't shut his lips with a snap like the snap snap snap of closed purses putting all the treasure away away away
From jealous eyes, sneaky beams of furtive jealous wanting all over the world
The Want-World: relentless world of pursed lips, clenched fists, stiff necks, tight valves, doors shut, screwed down with anger and trustless redundancy, shut-down minds and shut-down dreams rusting in shut-down cages forever with only dust to live for
My little boy's lips, when he sleeps, are not shut up like a purse.
They are a song: rich and smooth and full and imperceptibly parted - parted as if a mouth could grow wings and fly and change and cease to be a mouth and become not a smile but a glimpse;
A promise.
A promise.
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