deepundergroundpoetry.com

voyeur.

we watch as cars,
� �pass by,
sleet-covered roadway
� �falling away
beneath them.

they do not know
� �who we are,
so we can pretend
� �to be just who
we may wish to be.

now, as we watch
� �the hurried
traffic fly past,
� �i am a painter
and you are a therapist.

i create grand
� �glorious murals
depicting rebirth and
� �you analyse and
explain why i chose to paint them.

people peer
� �out of the corners
of their eyes as
� �they pass by,
always oblivious.

they do not see
� �my offering to you,
nor your analysis
� �of this strangely
morbid creation.

the eyes that do glimpse us
� �catch only muted
colours, no detail,
� �and see two
alone at a table.