Bones behind glass
Bones behind glass. Just out of reach.
Sentiments behind words. Subtle but visible.
Thinly veiled, the threats lie beneath glass.
Bones, I think of death.
Sentiments, I think of love.
Both play a part in each other.
Your anatomy, it lies where I can see it.
I know where your heart is, and I can see your eyes, the windows into your soul.
The bones hold up your sentiments, and your eyes let me see into you, like glass protecting meaning.
A toad is behind a barrier. A barrier of glass.
It's last warbling croak, disbanded by the progression of time and decay.
In a glass box it lays. The bones of a creature.
Protected from the interpretation of fingers and unfettered sight; it lays only half understood.
An exhibit, a monument to life. It is kept away from those who could destroy it.
Just as your sentiments and love are behind skin and seen through eyes, the toad cannot be interpreted by sight alone.
I must connect to you through language.
Both of the body and of the mind.
My words tap at the well of my meaning that I wish to convey.
They are a bucket that draws water from the stony depths.
The depths are where the toad lays; it breeds in the shallow turgid water.
The depths are where my meaning lays; they breed in the shallow water of my mind.