Frayed fingers and caressing eyes
rove, never ending over me.
‘Don’t walk through there alone,’ they cry.
A perfect circle. Much to shy
to open and let us be free,
of frayed fingers and caressing eyes.
Halfway around, it tries to hide.
High-pitched screams as we try to flee.
‘Don’t walk through there alone’ they cry
to me as I daringly try
to enter the beautifully
frayed fingers and caressing eyes.
A set of wheels and racing thighs,
hurtle me towards the queen bee.
‘Don’t walk through there alone,’ they cry.
Brown bricks and branches block the sky,
as they begin to stare at my
frayed fingers and caressing eyes.
‘Don’t walk through there alone,’ they cry.
By Brittany Reid
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