The Mating Game – a poem

The Mating Game;




My mask has not yet slipped, no cracks

In the charcoal matte surface so made,

A flicker of eyes just caught, a sigh

As memories rise from murk, invisible



Faces which start rebellions, innocent

Movements and expressions, sparking

Motions too out of proportion to most,

The game which moves in secret ways



Intricacies of a game always played,

Yet never spoken of by the players,

Nuances of exchanges made behind doors

Metaphorical made physical, barriers



Like frosted glass, we operate behind

That translucent facade, masks worn,

Sometimes torn, the game from fun to

Shock, unintentional investments turn


4 thoughts on “The Mating Game – a poem

  1. I love your style… Always great writing from you, very impressive πŸ™‚

    Keep up the great work!

    Liked by 1 person

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