HOLES IN A LANDSCAPE PICTURE
I am two holes
Making up a half
Witless in timing
Close to the shore
Timed by tides
Opened by doors
Close to nothing
Leaving insures
Me of deserting the
Real thing
Called likeness
Of being.
Accused of unwanted
Knowledge of sex
These are the doors
I want opened next.
COPYRIGHT BRUCE E SAUNDERS 2019