I guess

Spotted!
By Jackson Grind


Hiding behind half hearted handshakes
resperating botanicals
and wondering when this liquid
crosses the line, into confidence
convoluted
weaving words into
quarter-witted remarks
Inhaling the season's end
exhaling feelings of last year
there's the constant reminder
not glance over one's shoulder
or into the past
lest they gaze
on your vaguely familiar face
“The sky is yearning for your hands
lay the pen on the ground
the vines of clever justice
have you surrounded,
oh, poignant poetaster!”