Soho Grind, Soho

Perhaps, in yearning for the window of opportunity, I lost sight of the stacked glass that never shattered, no matter how many stones I threw at your stubborn frame.

Pane and perception are relative, after all.

I could glaze over you with opaque sentiment,

bind you with draped emotion,

stain you with the colourful language of my wrath.

Yet, you would never keep me at bay, nor fragment

the cool surface of my

heart.

Through yonder window, light breaks but my resolve

remains intact. Cracks will spider across

my exterior, yet yours remains:

as smooth and transparent as ever.