More on the Gherkin

You look over
staircases of blue shield
windows and tube
light.

And scared hearts
beat in pin-splah-drop
silence, if this
conversation,

Maybe the last. A forest
inside you, with
summer flowers and
flimsy,

If sweaty dreams of
the other half that
is sleeping in transit
rotation,

Of the Earth, and all
changing relationships,
Except the one that
we have with our
window,

And a big delicious
ugly building.

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